


ACT 07: Resident Evil - Prelude to Horror

by noctorro



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Original Character-centric, POV Original Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2018-09-12 16:46:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 53,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9081022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noctorro/pseuds/noctorro
Summary: Summer 1998. In two short months, Raccoon City transforms from a quiet mountain community into a fiery grave for its innocent civilians. A local RPD school intern and an international tourist find themselves trapped in the decaying city, and in their attempts to escape, unknowingly uncover the politics and corruption leading to the Raccoon's demise. But before their story can be told, they will need to face untold horrors from Umbrella's assassination attempts, the T-Virus BOW's, the UBCS sent in to terminate any survivors ... and the bombs.





	1. Welcome to Raccoon

**Author's Note:**

> Prelude to Horror is a Resident Evil fanfiction taking place in Raccoon City, between July and September, 1998, from the Ecliptic Express disaster of Resident Evil 0, right up to the fall of the last hope for humanity; the Raccoon Police Precinct, in Resident Evil 2. This story aims to capture the gradual degradation of Raccoon City from a bustling mountain community in the American Midwest, into a biohazard zone overrun with the undead, through the lens of two unarmed, average civilians; one local, and one tourist.
> 
> Their stories are shaped by, and compliment the games' events, featuring a cast of original characters, supporting Resident Evil characters, and the occasional appearance from the series' protagonists themselves.
> 
> I hope you will enjoy reading this story as much as I am writing it. Without further ado, on with the show.

From the Diary of Kenneth Feng:

I once lived in the American Midwest in a small, quaint little mountain community nestled in the middle of a sprawling evergreen forest. Most people from major metropolitan areas like New York would've looked at our stomping grounds as a nice place to own a vacation home. Perhaps a multi-storey wood cabin perched atop some arduous cliff face at the edge of town, with a view of the inner city below and a cloudless cerulean sky above; a stark contrast to their otherwise smog-laden high stress lifestyles. That was what outsiders, by no small effort on the part of Mayor Michael Warren, had come to expect out of Raccoon City as; a vacation spot for the rich and adventurous. Tourism was the second largest industry that brought money into Raccoon City - hikers, to be more specific. Surrounded on all sides by dense forest, we were abundant in hiking trails ranging from relatively level to obstacle ridden, all beginning at the foot of the mountains. Enthusiasts tended to scale a mountain or two.

I say tourism was our second largest industry because unless you were local, you might have heard about the Umbrella Corporation on occasion or read an article on them because they made the Forbes 100 list - again. Unlike other American cities, Raccoon was backed almost exclusively by the pharmaceutical company. Their products were on the store shelves, in our cupboards, bathrooms, and even on our plates with a share in most well-established local businesses. In hindsight, I'm aware of the absurdity of our situation to most outsiders. It's the equivalent of having the makers of Tylenol having a financial stake in almost every aspect of your life, the stuff of political cartoons. But to us, it was a reality and we knew no better for it.

I moved here about two years ago from Osaka, Japan. That port city has been my home for as long as I can remember, though my family had immigrated there from Beijing, China shortly after I was born. I took it upon myself to make the move to Raccoon because I'd been raised with the typical Japanese ideology of the West as being this exalted place, and I wanted to see the cities and culture of a society that, technologically speaking, had a major influence in Osaka's physical makeup. And of all the places I choose to move to in the U.S., it wasn't the bustling city of New York, it wasn't Los Angeles with enough pollution to change air into some kind of alien atmosphere, nor was it the moderate climate of Seattle in the North West. No, it was the quiet, laid back mentality of Raccoon City that ended up drawing me in.

I'll be entering tenth grade this September at Raccoon City Secondary School - or RCSS for short. Summer school isn't common amongst most American kids, but we were Uptowners; the offspring of Raccoon City's elite - big fish in an incredibly claustrophobic pond and Hell hath no fury like an Uptown parent of an underachieving teenager. My summer of 1998 was crammed with daytime classes at school, and work experience of 100 unpaid hours of service to the local police department as their office boy as a pre-requisite to securing a spot in Harvard in time for my scheduled 2001 graduation. Turns out that work experience isn't the glamorous A-Level kind of work a university candidate would expect so they could put it on their resume and impress the hell out of the interviewers.

Overachiever? Maybe I was. But in a tight-knit community of suits, executives, expensive cars, and where social gatherings were a cleverly disguised arena of ego death matches, anything less than a middle management job or a fast-tracked program at an elite university upon graduation and one would find himself slowly losing face in his own community. And at the end of that downward spiral was Downtown Raccoon City; cubicles they called 'homes' stacked on top of each other loosely connected by aged brick and mortar with creaky rusted metal wrapped around them like tinsel that the Downtowners called fire escapes. The roads in downtown were cracked and riddled with potholes that formed puddles when it rained that kids loved jumping into barefoot. Children played hopscotch, four-square, jump-rope and street hockey outside in their stained, tattered clothing as cars zoomed by, their drivers more concerned with passing the area as quickly as possible than the safety of the kids. Mothers in mumu's and hair curlers hollered at the kids from second and third storey windows to come in for dinner simultaneously every day between the hours of 5 and 6pm. And from 11pm to 3 in the morning, their fathers would stumble home from the bar with alcohol bottles in hand, some full, most empty, yelling vulgarities in a drunken confrontation with their own personal demons.

I oversimplify using terms like Uptown and Downtown because Raccoon City wasn't divided into two neighborhoods. For a small mountain city, we had dozens of micro-communities though the border of the divide between the two areas became a little blurry towards the middle class neighborhoods. But towards the extremes, everyone in town knew that the creme de la creme of society lived in Whitchley, and the welfare enthusiasts lived in St. Michaels.

I'd only been working with the police department for about a few months and had already grown accustomed to the reports from Downtown. Organizing the papers, I came to the quick realization that this was where it all happened. After a week, I cared nothing for the cat in the tree story that Mrs. Lonsdale called in for, when there was a treasure trove of stories from Downtown featuring abuse, of every kind - animal, child, battery, theft, drug, suicide ... like a library of every genre shelved, ready for perusal at my fingertips.

But of all the police reports I read, there was one that really sticks out in my mind; a report that evolved into a full blown epic so tragic that it had manifested from the pages I held in my hands into the blood-splattered walls of rooms that I literally walked through, smoke filled air that I breathed, screams of people and their flesh being torn from their bodies that I heard, and friends that I watched die. It is a story that everyone now knows, perhaps the only story that anyone knows about Raccoon City. History has us pegged as the first casualty, the patient zero that instigated the full scale war on bioterrorism today. Nobody in this town would've expected the misfortune of Raccoon City in Anywhere USA to gain such an iconic status from this one story. Nobody acknowledges that we were a tax paying people, complete with everyday problems, social class disputes, and petty social graces before we turned into ... before everything ... before ...

Just let me tell you what happened.


	2. A Day at Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet Kenneth Feng - full time 10th grade student at Raccoon City Secondary School, and part-time RPD errand boy.

**Wednesday, July 22nd, 1998**  
**Downtown, Raccoon City**  
**12:45pm**  
  
Mid-summer days in Raccoon City were comparable to hell. Surrounded in three directions by mountains, the breeze which came in from a narrow break in the mountain chain to the south was then broken up and dispersed by the thick forests before it reached the city. The resulting dry air, combined with the heat, turned an otherwise short walk to work from school in the afternoons into a death march across the Sahara. The only reason Kenny was clad in a T-shirt and shorts was because there was a law against being naked in public. Two blocks to go, and Kenny counted every car passed, every concrete sidewalk slab stepped over. One block to go, and the sun seemed to beam down even brighter and hotter, trying to beat him into dehydrated submission before he could reach the paved cobblestone path at the Raccoon City Precinct's front courtyard which led to the entrance, and more importantly, shelter. It did not succeed, although by the time Kenny had reached his destination, his face was flushed, and his forehead, upper lip and the underneath of his jaw were coated with sweat.  
  
Stepping through the twelve-foot iron gates that were left open during the days led him onto the path in the precinct courtyard and into the shadow of the three storey, concrete and glass building which dominated the otherwise apartment-crowded landscape with its pseudo-Gothic silhouette.  
  
He walked through the main doors and was hit with the relief of air conditioning and, as usual, with a wave of the old building's musk. Kenny was greeted by bustling officers and secretaries, papers in their hands, going in and out through the numerous doors flanking the perimeter walls that made up the main lobby. The entrance platform was raised, and he stepped down a short flight of steps onto the glistening marble floor where in front him, the Raccoon Police emblem had been painstakingly carved into the surface, at the foot of a fountain sporting a statue of a woman bearing a water jug. Kenny made his way around the fountain and with the creaking of a well-used swivel chair, took a seat at the giant oak desk alongside the secretaries, plopping his backpack beside the computer tower.  
  
A blonde, pixie-cut female officer looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. "Good afternoon, Kenny." She swept her arm across the surface of the workstation and rose from her computer, one hand holding a coffee mug, the other tucking a folder into her armpit.  
  
"Good afternoon, Rita," Kenny replied, tipping his chin at the folder. "You're drinking fresh coffee, so the delivery arrived on time this morning and I just saw you wipe crumbs off the table so I know the bakery order did too. Patrol reports were compiled and delivered to Chief Irons last night, and yesterday's fingerprints are filed and sorted, so ... what's that?"  
  
"Book club application forms," she sighed. "Bernice has piqued the interests of more than a few of our finest in blue. She's running late and asked me to help her gather them, and I foolishly agreed without even thinking how many people are in this building, unless ..." Rita narrowed her blue eyes at Kenny, the task delegation plan forming in her mind and across her pretty features.  
  
"Oh, don't you even dare!" he retorted, before Rita could even blurt out the request.  
  
To his surprise, she let out a girlish giggle instead and patted him on the shoulder. "You're lucky today, Kenny. There will be none of that. But I do have a task for you that I think you'll enjoy."  
  
Kenny loved the bustling activity and the atmosphere of the old building that was now the Raccoon City Police Precinct, but had a hard time narrowing down any particular tasks that he enjoyed, from delivering coffee doughnuts to the senior officers, to prepping meeting rooms for presentations, if it weren't for the people he interacted with performing those tasks. His curiosity aroused, he gave up at trying to guess and asked, "Oh yeah, what is it?"  
  
"You heard about those cases of the missing families in the Arklay mountains, right?" she asked, lowering her voice a few notches. Of course Kenny had, after sorting and organizing reports and witness statements from all over the city. The occasional missing hiker call would come through, which wasn't uncommon in the community. But they were rising with alarming frequency as of late. It sounded like a zombie B-movie, with claims of rabid dogs and the occasional monster. And last week, an emergency meeting was called in the west conference room which he remembered having to struggle to prep in thirty minutes. It wasn't until the meeting began that he was excused by Officer Neil Carlsen and on his way out, overheard mention of the Arklay forests in passing.  
  
As an intern, Kenny was a paper-pusher and part-time janitor. The case material did not involve him, and this emergency meeting was no exception – that is, until Rita elaborated.  
  
"Well, it turns out they're sending Bravo in to check out the situation tonight."  
  
"They're sending the STARS into action?" Spearheaded by Captain Albert Wesker, the Special Tactics and Rescue Squad, otherwise known as the STARS, Raccoon City's local, elite equivalent of the SWAT Team was divided into two branches: Alpha and Bravo. Both teams consisted of combat and weapon-trained survivalists and were the envy (or idols, depending on who you asked) of the RPD. Being one of the precinct's errand boys, Kenny's duties included attending to the STARS members as well, though he found them to be mostly absent, or low maintenance when they weren't, mostly requiring coffee and snacks to fuel their metabolisms.  
  
It was obvious to everyone at the precinct, from the Chief all the way down to the janitor, that the missing hiker reports were increasing in frequency, but nobody anticipated the decision to involve the STARS – and clearly, going by Rita's excitement inability to contain in her whisper, neither did she. The STARS were only ever sent in for the most dangerous missions, and Kenny struggled to wrap his mind around how missing person reports and some cases of animal attacks would concern them. What did Chief Irons know that the rest of the city didn't?  
  
Rita nodded, with a smile on her face. "Yeah. So I've got a few things for you to prepare for them. First of all," she held up a perfectly manicured index finger, "there's a rookie on Bravo team and this will be her first mission. She's supposedly a chemistry whiz from Raccoon University, not too much older than you. Her equipment should be arriving sometime this morning and I need you to get them delivered to Captain Wesker at the STARS office upstairs the moment it arrives."  
  
Kenny's heart raced with excitement. Rita was right, this was going to be a task he'd never forget. Beyond delivering snacks to the STARS office, his interaction with the team was sparse. Now he was being asked to carry their equipment! Specially crafted, field-ready, designed and custom made with knowledge and experience far beyond what a fifteen year old could have accrued by this point. But then it dawned on him – at just under under five feet five inches tall, and 130 pounds soaking wet on, and with a full stomach, was he able to carry everything to their office on the second floor west wing without damaging anything, himself included? "How big is the package?"  
  
"Oh, it shouldn't be too big for you," Rita said, her gaze traveling the height of Kenny's teenage frame. "It's just some first aid sprays, bandages and whatnot."  
  
Kenny nodded and stood up, ready to head down to the parking garage to receive the equipment, but Rita stopped him, holding up a second finger.  
  
"Secondly, there are some firearms that need to be picked up from Kendo's Gun Shop for the mission tonight. They were sent there for customization last week and we just got word they're ready to be used, just in time for the mission. You remember the way there, right?"  
  
"Out the side exit, right down the street, another right through an alley, around a fire escape, through a basketball court …"  
  
"I mean the LEGAL way," she reminded sternly, "one that doesn't involve trespassing on private property."  
  
"Yeah, I remember," Kenny said, a little disappointed. "But do I get to go alone?"  
  
"Of course not. You'll be accompanying Officer Ryman."

* * *

 **RPD Precinct Garage**  
**1:30pm**  
  
The air in the subterranean precinct garage was as cool as the rest of the building, with the one exception being that it didn't feel artificially generated by air conditioning. The old building's musk blended with a hint of gasoline. The east end of the space was where the entrance ramp was located, with the top at ground level, and it was down this ramp which Officer David McGraw steered the navy blue armored SWAT vehicle. From outside the vehicle, Kenny guided his parking job; open palms for "slowly", thumbs up for "perfect" and frantic jumping and waving for "stop." Kenny made a mental note to ensure that the vehicle was not parked obscuring the door to the kennels where the K9 units were housed; a common error the officers made, regardless of experience with the force. The day shift was in full swing and the garage was at half capacity, with all patrol units making their rounds around Raccoon City, which allowed Kenny and Officer McGraw ample room to maneuver.  
  
No sooner had the ignition been turned off, the door swung open. Officer McGraw leapt out of the vehicle and slammed the driver's side door behind him. He made his way over to the rear of the vehicle, unlocking the titanium armored doors which granted him access to the contents inside, brown wavy surfer locks bouncing at the back of his head as he went. Officer McGraw began speaking without pausing for eye contact.  
  
"Thanks for helping me out with this, buddy," he said, clambering into the rear of the vehicle. His voice became muffled as he entered into the dark abyss. Kenny approached the rear bumper to assist, just as Officer McGraw popped his head out and dropped a reinforced plastic box which Kenny scrambled to catch. His knees buckled under the force of weight of the box. "Got some priority equipment specially ordered for the STARS newbie joining us today. The order's late and Rita's got her panties in a knot worrying about whether the new recruit will get her equipment on time."  
  
Officer McGraw dropped another box, identical in size and weight, on top of the one Kenny cradled in his arms, without pausing for breath. "Umbrella Corporation. Damn corporate conglomerates, am I right? Distribution houses are all the same." Officer McGraw reappeared again, holding a third box in his hands, about to drop it on him when he noticed Kenny was struggling with the two he already held. Sweat condensed on Kenny's forehead, knees bent and shaking.  
  
"Officer McGraw," Kenny called from behind the wall of boxes in his arms, almond Asian eyes barely peering from above the top of the wall, "my hands are full."  
  
He winced in sympathy. "Sorry about that, buddy." He tucked the third box under one arm, scooped one from Kenny with the other and held them against his ribs for stability. "There's a much smaller box in here," he said, reaching into his breast pocket. "I'll need you to carry that for me." Kenny placed his large box on the ground while Officer McGraw's hand reappeared from his pocket holding a much smaller, very different kind of box - one with a velvety red surface with gold trimmings - and placed it comfortably into the palm of his hand. Curiosity got the better of Kenny and he opened it. The inside of the box was lined with fine gold coloured satin. Sitting on a cushioned pedestal was a small gold ring set with two emeralds and a diamond that gleamed with an unearthly brilliance, even in the dim lighting of the garage. Amongst all the Umbrella brand first aid sprays, bandages, ammunition and riot gear, the ring seemed very out of place.  
  
"What is something like this doing here, sir?" Kenny asked, bewildered.  
  
"Hold onto that and don't lose it," Officer McGraw warned sternly, "or Frost is going to have my head on a platter." Frost, or rather, Joseph Frost, was a name Kenny was familiar with as one of the STARS Alpha team members. "That ring is for Officer Berstein. He's going to propose to her tomorrow night in front of the entire squad, but he doesn't want her suspecting anything, so he got me to collect the ring."  
  
"How did he hide an engagement ring purchase from Officer Bernstein?" Kenny asked. Officer Amber Bernstein was close to Rita and Officer McGraw, and he knew her by association. She was a slender lady with long, red, curly hair and pretty in a simple way, down to her personal style; not a woman he'd assume was accustomed to purchasing jewelry, so she would have surely noticed something like this.  
  
"He convinced Bernice to create a pseudo-expenditures account for the RPD and threw his own money into it," he explained, shrugging. "Hid his own money in the RPD equipment budget. Genius, he is."  
  
Something still didn't add up. Kenny had spent enough time pushing the precinct's paperwork with the resident secretary / part-time accounts manager Bernice. And if there was one thing he learned, it was that even though one was depositing money and not withdrawing, didn't mean they'd be in the clear. Budget imbalance would be investigated, especially in law enforcement.  
  
"His money would have been included in our expenditures reports and they'd find out that we had more money than our budget if we ever got audited," Kenny cautioned.  
  
"Bernice was in on it," Officer McGraw reassured him, "and it wasn't a hard sell for her either, considering the department's expenditures dealing with the attacks in the outskirts. We've been spending hundreds upon thousands with the growing number of incidents. Nobody's going to notice a few extra thousand dollars. Bernice knows what she's doing and besides, since when did you become the Chief's personal errand boy? Last time I checked, you were ours!" He socked Kenny lightly in the shoulder.  
  
Dropping the topic, Kenny snapped the box shut with finality and quickly shoved it into the pocket of his shorts. "So what do you want me to do with the ring?"  
  
"Sneak it into Frost's locker," Officer McGraw advised, "But make sure Officer Valentine doesn't notice. She and Bernstein are tighter than a virgin's ..." he trailed off, but picked up again, "they're best friends, so just don't let her see it."  
  
And it was in that moment that Kenny couldn't help but beam with pride - he was being entrusted with the secrets of the STARS members' personal lives and an actual engagement ring! At the rate he was climbing the social ladder here, he felt confident that they'd be giving him a real job in the precinct by next year, and he wouldn't have to settle for becoming burger artist at any of the city's fast food restaurants. Kenny tucked this point away in his memory banks, to be used for ammunition at the next social gathering one of the uptown parents would undoubtedly throw to celebrate whatever news they had to gloat about. He reached into his pocket again to ensure that the ring was where he had placed it, and grasped the velvet box tightly. "You can count on me, Officer McGraw!"  
  
Officer McGraw began heading towards the exit. Kenny hurriedly picked up his supply box off the ground and followed him in line. He wasn't the biggest cop at the precinct, but beneath a modest build lay immense strength, as he carried two supply boxes between his arm and ribs, keeping the other free for opening doors while Kenny, by comparison, struggled with one using both hands. He didn't talk about it much, but rumor had it that Officer McGraw was a former Marine, having registered for his first tour of Iraq during the 1991 conflict as soon as he turned 18. For reasons a civilian couldn't begin to understand, he later opted for life as a police officer in a relatively peaceful town like Raccoon City.  
  
They trudged up the stairs leading to the main floor in the east wing, down a narrow corridor lined on the south walls with windows facing the open street where cars uncharacteristically never broke the speed limit. From behind the glass in the comfort of the air-conditioned building, heat waves could be seen rippling off the sun baked pavement. The corridor led to the east office, where Officer McGraw acknowledged every passer-by with a tip of the chin or a head nod. Kenny occasionally received a clasp on the shoulder or a passing compliment or joke.  
  
"Hey McGraw, how much ya paying the kid?"  
  
"Wish my son had even a fraction of your work ethic, Kenny!"  
  
The east office was a vast space of work stations bordered by walls trimmed with exquisitely carved wood. The only source of light came from overhead fluorescent bulbs which bathed everything in a faint white glow. A single propeller fan provided the only visible air circulation in the room. The southeast corner was blocked off by walls, reserving the encased area as a private office for Senior Officer Marvin Branagh. Double teal doors at the north end led into the waiting area and out to the main hall, where Kenny spotted a petite, doe-eyed girl clearly in awe of the grandeur of the building. She was looking around with a gaping expression, partly taken in by the decor, and also by not knowing where to go. Officer McGraw walked briskly past her, but the girl was able to catch Kenny's attention.  
  
"Um, excuse me," she said softly, reaching out an arm toward Kenny, stopping short of making physical contact. "I'm a little lost and I was wondering if you could direct me."  
  
"Officer McGraw, wait!" he called out, eager to drop the heavy box. "Yes, where do you need to go, Miss?" As he spoke, Kenny noticed that she was not dressed in civilian clothes, but rather dark green khaki pants rolled up at the ankles and a similarly coloured T-shirt over which lay a white bullet-proof vest. This girl was no civilian here to make another report. Her large eyes and round face, framed by short cut, boyish brown hair, showed a look of relief and she reached out for a handshake.  
  
"My name is Rebecca Chambers," she explained gratefully, as Kenny took her hand into his, "and I wasn't due to start with the RPD until tomorrow, but I got a phone call this morning from Rita, requesting an early start and to come in as soon as possible. It sounded like an emergency but she told me more would be revealed in a briefing."  
  
"Hi Rebecca, my name is Kenneth Feng, and I'm an intern here at the RPD. My companion here," he motioned for Officer McGraw, who was steps away from the west office doors, to come over, "is Officer David McGraw."  
  
"Pleasure to meet you, Rebecca," Officer McGraw said, shaking her hand with his free arm. "We're actually on a run to deliver your supplies over to the STARS office so if you'd like to follow us, we can escort you to your desk."  
  
"Thank you so much!" Rebecca said, clasping her hands together with excitement and relief. "Can I help with any of the lifting?"  
  
"Oh, that won't be necessary …" Kenny began, but was promptly cut off.  
  
"The kid could use a hand," Officer McGraw said, and Rebecca wasted no time in relieving him from the burden of the supply box.  
  
"Thank you so much again, I've got this now," she said, smiling.  
  
Kenny took a moment to shoot McGraw his best "What the hell do you think you're doing?" expression.  
  
They continued their journey to the second floor of the west wing towards the STARS office, with Kenny holding doors for Rebecca and Officer McGraw. It wasn't much farther from here - past the War God statue into the next corridor where the STARS office awaited them. The shades on the west windows were drawn, but allowed small rays of sunshine to pool in. Potted plants rested on the sills, livening up an otherwise dull, old wooden space. Kenny grasped the knob to the STARS office door and turned it slightly, to find it unlocked. He let the door creak open, knocking loudly to announce their arrival.  
  
"We have a Rebecca Chambers, reporting for duty," Kenny called into the room. "Are we interrupting anything?"  
  
He opened the door fully to reveal a large room, fitted with workstations for each of the STARS members lining the walls. Captain Wesker's desk was placed so that it gave him a view down the length of the room, at the opposite end of which sat the weapons locker: the soon to be hiding place for Officer Frost's ring. The desks were cluttered with the STARS members' personal belongings - save for one, across from the locker which was bare and pristine save for a First Aid kit mounted on the wall. He took the educated guess that this was to be Rebecca's workstation.  
  
We were greeted by the gargantuan Kenneth Sullivan, from Bravo team; he seemed to be the lone occupant in the room. Officer McGraw was not the biggest officer on the force – that title went to Officer Sullivan, an Afro-American man standing 6'2", their first names being the only thing he and Kenny had in common. Outweighing Kenny by double, he was a literal wall of muscle; His appearance was where the intimidation ended though; Officer Sullivan was a gentle soul housed in a tank of a body. He rose from his desk and beamed a warm smile at them, crossing half the length of the room with just a few thundering steps.  
  
He scooped up the supply box from Rebecca's cradled arms, took a hand and planted a gentle kiss on her knuckle. "Welcome to the team, Rebecca." He motioned with an open palm towards the immaculate workstation which Kenny had correctly guessed had been assigned to her. He then took the remaining supply boxes from Officer McGraw and stacked them against the wall flanking her workstation. With Officer Sullivan's back turned to them, Officer McGraw silently nodded at Kenny and he sprang into action, simultaneously sneaking open the weapon locker and extracting the ring from his pocket. He slipped the ring on to Officer Frost's shelf and closed the door as quietly as possible, while Rebecca looked on in silent confusion. Officer McGraw held a finger to his lips, signaling for her silence.  
  
Kenny had just closed the locker door with the gentlest of force, hearing a soft click that the latch had been secured, when Officer Sullivan turned back around to face them. "We apologize for the short notice," he continued to Rebecca, "but something came up and we were caught off guard as much as you probably were. The others should be en route. We're ..." Officer Sullivan paused, noticing Kenny was in their presence. He looked at Officer McGraw and cocked his bald head at him.  
  
"Kenny," Officer McGraw spoke, "Captain Wesker will be holding an emergency briefing in just over an hour for Bravo Team. We need the presentation loaded up on the projector in the West Meeting Room, and the space needs to be prepped for six and one presenter. The projection slides are in his outbox." He tipped his chin in the direction of Captain Wesker's desk.  
  
"Refreshments, sir?" Kenny asked.  
  
"Not for this, no," Officer Sullivan clarified. "Thank you, Kenny."  
  
Kenny headed over to Captain Wesker's desk and took the miniature reel from his outbox and headed for the exit. Officer McGraw clapped him on the shoulder as he passed, his show of gratitude for successfully hiding the ring. Not another word was spoken until Kenny had left the room, closed the door behind him and was out of earshot.

* * *

 **RPD Precinct 1F Meeting Room**  
**2:55 pm**  
  
Kenny did his best to prepare the stuffy meeting room for Captain Wesker's presentation. Rows of seats with table-top surfaces that could be folded down, reminiscent of college lecture seats, were stick-straight and horizontally offset so that those in the second row would not have their view of the projection screen obscured by the back of a colleague's head. Due to the potentially sensitive nature of material being reviewed, adjustments were made to the building so that the room was windowless and as a result, always gave him a slight feeling of claustrophobia. Waist high ledges ran along the perimeter wall, perfect for extra attendees in the event that there were no longer any seats available. That would not be the case today, so Kenny set up a coffee station. Officer Sullivan had said no refreshments, but he wasn't fooling anyone. Kenny would never be allowed to deliver snacks to the STARS room again if they realized he'd forgotten to provide coffee for a briefing. There was no creamer as the Bravo team tended to like their coffee black; although he was unfamiliar with the preference of today's new recruit, Rebecca; and that made him nervous.  
  
Otherwise, with hands on his hips, Kenny looked around the room admiring his handiwork. All this, and it had taken him under an hour to prep everything. The only unchecked item on the list was to test the projector and make sure it ran the slides accordingly. But for confidentiality reasons, Kenny left the slides unchecked, instead placing them beside the projector for Captain Wesker. And right on time, he head the approaching footsteps of the STARS Bravo team.  
  
Kenny opened the doors to greet the team, beginning with, "Good afternoon, Captain Wes-" and immediately leapt out of the STARS Captain's way. Captain Wesker entered the room keeping his pace, one hand patting down his well-gelled blonde hair. He headed towards the front of the room while the rest of the team followed in line, with Rebecca among them still looking lost but with brows creased with determination to match the professionalism of her colleagues.  
  
"The table-tops are blanketed in dust, Kenny," Captain Wesker said without turning his head to face him, shades hiding any indication of emotion. The feedback came as a surprise, as Kenny watched the STARS members file one by one into the strategically placed seats. The room wasn't perfect, and his mind wrestled with the blow to his morale. The desks, the coffee, the tidiness of the room - but it didn't matter to the Captain. Kenny had forgotten to dust.  
  
"But sir," Kenny began, wanting to save whatever shred of dignity he might have had left, "On such short notice, I couldn't have possibly …"  
  
Captain Wesker sighed deeply and interrupted. "Do you know why these officers are a part of the STARS unit, young man? Because they give me results, not excuses."  
  
Officer Sullivan was quick to apologize for the Captain's brisk comment with a subtle thumbs-up in Kenny's direction. Officer Richard Aiken, Bravo's young, cheerful communications specialist, gave Kenny's shoulder a sympathetic squeeze as he entered, whispering under his breath, "Don't let it get to you. You did good, kid." They did their best to offset their Captain's words, but Kenny was still dismayed by Captain Wesker's disapproval. Wesker didn't care about what Kenny had done - only about what he didn't do.  
  
After shuffling some papers in his hands, Captain Wesker paused and directed his attention to Kenny, not noticing the actions of his subordinates. "You have your feedback, Kenny, which means you are dismissed."  
  
"Y...yes, sir, duly noted for next time," he replied nervously, spinning on his heels and heading for the doors at a speedy pace. The last view of the room Kenny caught before closing the door with finality was Rebecca, sitting straight up with perfect posture, swallowing a lump in her throat.

* * *

 **RPD Precinct, Alleyway**  
**3:13 pm**  
  
Kenny took a couple of minutes for a short cigarette break in one of the alleyways across the street from the precinct. Though it was well past noon, the sun hadn't even begun to set yet and the pavement radiated with its heat, baking the trash in the garbage bins lining the alley and magnifying the resulting stench tenfold. Not the most ideal place to relax and gather his thoughts, but after Captain Wesker's brusque critique, he needed a change of environment to assess, even if it meant a change of environment to this.  
  
Three months of working at the police station and he'd never once seen the man smile. From his own recollection, it was clear Kenny wasn't the only one on the receiving end of his remarks. Captain Wesker wasn't an unreasonable man from what he'd gathered, but rather a perfectionist. Success was earned, but for one thing gained, there were 5 obstacles that came with it. And you didn't succeed again without overcoming them all. Armed with that kind of mindset, he would hate to encounter Wesker on the battlefield. It was little wonder how Wesker had come to be the leader of the STARS unit, though his soft skills left much to be desired by everyone around him.  
  
Having put his mind at ease, at least for the moment, Kenny returned to the main hall - and his workstation - and was met with the sound of flirtatious giggles. Rita was leaning on the desk , her upper body weight supported by her slender arm, hand planted on the desk's wooden surface. She twirled locks of her hair between her fingers as she listened to the story being told to her by a male companion.  
  
He stood facing Rita, arms folded across his chest, occasionally raising a hand to make an animated gesture while she punctuated his sentences with her giggles. It wasn't the man's trademark lengthy, unkempt brown hair nor his perpetual scruffy five o'clock shadow that gave away his identity - it was voice, the way with which he spoke, the rise and fall of his tone as he told his story and his blatant disregard of the decibels of his voice.  
  
Kenny brought silence with his presence, however, as both parties noticed his approach. But it was short-lived. "Well if it isn't my favorite intern!" Officer Ryman declared happily, draping an arm around Kenny's shoulders and he pulled the intern to his side for one armed, one sided hug.  
  
"Nice ... to see you too ... Officer Ryman," Kenny wheezed as Officer Ryman unintentionally crushed the air out of his lungs.  
  
Rita wiped a tear from her eye with a finger, left over from whatever hilarious story Officer Ryman had just finished telling her. "Let him go, Kevin," she said. "He's the only intern I've got helping you out with Kendo's shipment today. You break him, and that's it. No more interns."  
  
"Man, what are they feeding kids nowadays?" Kevin replied jokingly. "Or NOT feeding them, I should say. Have them join us for our training exercises and that should fix 'em up good, am I right Kenny?" Another squeeze and Kenny found himself gasping for air again.  
  
It wasn't up until that point that he noticed the senior secretary Bernice; an older lady past her prime but still carried herself with the class and grace that she undoubtedly had in her younger years. She was seated at her workstation, glaring over the rims of her spectacles at Officer Ryman disapprovingly as she typed.  
  
"Need I remind you, Kevin Ryman," she said, "that our interns are not screened for the same physical fitness that our candidates for police work are. They are civilians, and any injury sustained from your wild and crazy ideas notonly fall outside their roles and responsibilities, but are a liability which we absolutely cannot afford, especially now, of all times. Now, release the poor boy."  
  
Seemingly deflated, Officer Ryman did as he was told and took a step closer to Bernice. He stopped a foot away from her and flashed a shit-eating grin. "Why couldn't we afford it?" he asked with mock innocence. "Word around here is that we've got a surplus of funding for the equipment budget this quarter." He ended his sentence with a wink, and the gesture had silenced Bernice, telling him that she understood his point. Without missing a beat, Officer Ryman called over to Kenny. "Come on, kiddo! Kendo is waiting for us!"  
  
They left Rita and Bernice starting a new conversation beginning with Bernice's gratitude for her efforts in rounding up the book club applications. Officer Ryman and Kenny continued towards the east wing, heading for the parking garage where Kenny had picked up the supplies for the new recruit, Rebecca Chambers.  
  
"I don't think that was called for, Officer Ryman," Kenny chided him as Rita and Bernice's voices faded into the distance.  
  
"Sorry about that, buddy," he replied, half paying attention. "Didn't mean to hurt ya if I did."  
  
"No, I mean threatening Bernice."  
  
Officer Ryman stopped in his tracks, causing Kenny to scramble to avoid crashing into him. Officer Ryman peered over his shoulder at him, bushy eyebrow cocked. "Why would you read into that as a threat?" he asked, after a moment.  
  
"I found out about the ring today," Kenny explained. He knew that what Bernice agreed to do for Officer Frost would have got her into trouble. Having worked at the precinct longer than Kenny had been alive, she knew the risks and carried that with her every day at the office. She did not need to be reminded, and after spending many hours with her training me in administration work, he'd developed a deep sense of respect for Bernice and felt a little offended on her behalf.  
  
He sighed, and continued walking towards the garage. "Seems like everyone and their dog knows about Frost's intentions," he said. "We're all happy for him, but I hope Amber hasn't caught wind of this yet. Word of advice, Kenny. Try to refrain from getting involved in RPD politics. We're guardians of the law but before that, we're human too. I like Bernice as much as the next guy but as humans, you're flawed, I'm flawed, and so is she. And back there," he nodded in the general direction of the main hall, "I think she just forgot about that for a sec."  
  
Kenny agreed with Officer Ryman's advice. After dealing with Captain Wesker today, the last thing he wanted was starting some kind of feud, and he decided to drop the matter, but not without wrapping it all up in a politically-correct bow. "I'm sorry, Officer Ryman," he apologized, "it's just that you're right. I am flawed too. I screwed up today, prepping for a meeting and it ... well, it doesn't feel good. I didn't mean to lash out like that."  
  
He shot Kenny a sarcastic grin. "If that's all you fucked up on, I'd say you're doing pretty good."  
  
"That's a relief ..." Kenny began but got interrupted, not for the first time today.  
  
"Speaking of threatening Bernice," Officer Ryman began, "while you were showing around the STARS rookie, someone came to the precinct looking for you."  
  
Naturally, Kenny's mind went through his internal rolodex of tasks, racking his brains for what he could have possibly forgotten. He was all caught up with his summer school history projects – expecting to deliver ahead of schedule at this rate, in fact. Rent for the month was paid in advance and he had RSVP'ed to the welcoming soiree this weekend for the new neighbours in Coburg district. Giving up, he had to ask. "Who was it? And what does that have to do with threatening Bernice?"  
  
"I wasn't there at first," he replied honestly, "but I was just headed over to the west wing for some doughnuts our other intern Isaac delivered, and I caught her waving me down. There was a dude at reception, on the other side of the counter. Big dude, yay tall," Officer Ryman horizontally positioned his palm a few inches above his brows. "Suspicious looking, mid to late twenties, easily over two hundred pounds, red hair and jacked as hell. If he had been assaulting Bernice, I'm not sure I could've stopped him alone."  
  
This description was definitely not in the memory banks, and the fact that Kenny couldn't pin down an individual he knew fitting it was alarming. He needed more information. "What did he do to make Bernice escalate this to you?"  
  
"He was agitated," Officer Ryman elaborated. "So I approached him and tried to defuse the situation, but it turns out he just urgently wanted to see you, with such intensity that it scared Bernice. Something didn't feel right so I just sent him away without paging you on the intercom. I'm not sure if I made the right call but Kenny, from the way he was acting, it felt like a threat to me too. I was surprised he actually obliged when I escorted him out."  
  
"Officer Ryman ... " Kenny started, but the fear that suddenly gripped him had a hold on his throat as well. "I don't know anyone fitting that description."  
  
"Think hard," he advised carefully. "Because this guy described you down to a T. That, combined with his aggressive insistence on seeing you, concerned both Bernice and me."  
  
"What?!" Kenny was speechless otherwise. The only words he could manage were, "What ... who ..."  
  
"He didn't leave us with any contact information. Look, Kenny, if you can confirm our suspicions that this guy is bad news bears, then we might be able to open up an investigation. So I'll say it again, buddy. Think hard. Do you know a man fitting that description?"  
  
Kenny looked back at Officer Ryman, fear and paranoia reading all over his features. "No, Officer Ryman. Nobody..."


	3. Bravo's Bravado

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mysterious foreigner arrives in town, and appears to be looking for something ... or someone. Bravo Team embarks on a mission to investigate the Londsdale Corporation's missing train on its maiden voyage, the Ecliptic Express. Kenny notices Captain Wesker acting strangely prior to the mission.

**Thursday, July 23rd, 1998**  
**Apple Inn, Downtown Raccoon City**  
 **10:45 am**

The heavy oak double doors of the Apple Inn opened up, letting in a rush of the hot summer air, and the hotel's latest guest into the air-conditioned lobby. A neatly dressed bellhop held each door open, bowing their head in greeting to the guest; a tall stranger, square-jawed with a densely built torso and fiery red hair. The guest politely bowed his head in return, acknowledging the bellhops as he walked over to the reception counter, mud-caked hiking boots leaving visible footprints across the otherwise impeccable tile flooring. The bellhops closed the doors behind him, leaving the stranger crossing a pool of stain-glassed light built into the welcoming entrance, one arm slinging a duffel bag over his shoulder.

A single receptionist stood behind the counter, fussing over a stack of papers. She was pretty; dark brown hair tied into a neat, tight bun at the back of her head. Ruby lips pursed in concentration as she organized the documents behind the counter. She didn't notice the stranger approach at first, until she was bathed in his shadow. Mascara eyes looked up at him and she blinked, a warm smile suddenly materializing on her pretty features.

"I'm sorry sir," the receptionist apologized, "I didn't notice you there for a second. Welcome to the Apple Inn. How can I help you this morning?"

The stranger returned her warm smile, and rubbed his stubbled jaw. "Not a problem, Miss," he assured her, "I've got a reservation for four nights. I understand check-in time is at 3pm but I was hoping I'd get lucky today." He flashed her a dimpled smile from one side of his mouth.

The receptionist giggled in return. "You're correct, sir. But let me run a check through the system and see if we've had any guests check out early this morning. If you'll have a seat in the waiting area," she directed an open palm towards an area where a sofa with a finely carved wood frame sat atop an expansive Persian rug, flanked on either end by equally exquisite stands upon which table lamps were situated, "I'll be with you in a few short moments."

"I look forward to it," the stranger replied, "thank you, Miss."

"Could I ask under what name is the reservation under?"

"Crankurt. Mr. Craig Crankurt."

"Thank you, sir. I'll just be one moment."

The stranger headed to the waiting area as indicated by the receptionist, looking around at the grandeur of the Apple Inn foyer. A second story mezzanine ran along the perimeter of the space, seven feet overhead with a bridge running through the center of the room. The building smelled old, a slight musk permeating through the Victorian-Era wallpaper. It was late morning yet the space still felt dark and gloomy.

Still, it was among one of the best and reasonably priced hotels in town. And going by brochures, was one of the more popular places for tourists to rest their heads when they weren't exploring the nearby Arklay Mountains on foot. The hotel lobby reminded him much of what lay outside its walls; the rest of Raccoon City. It was old, quiet and borderline claustrophobic; definitely nowhere near the busy, bustling cities that he was used to.

The sofa groaned under him, as he shifted his weight, daring a glance at his watch. Two minutes to eleven. He looked over to the receptionist who was interacting with an elderly frail-looking couple donning straw hats and sunglasses, faces dampened with sweat. He guessed that they had just returned from a morning hike. The receptionist made eye contact with him and shot him a smile, but continued interacting with the couple. He took is as acknowledgement of his presence and decided he'd be fine waiting another few minutes. If it was taking this long to look for early check-outs, their computers must have been old and slow too.

Before long, the elderly couple joined him at the waiting area, wiping the sweat from their faces with cloth handkerchiefs. They settled on the opposite end of the sofa from where the stranger sat. It was the woman who initiated their conversation.

"The lovely young lady at the counter asked us to let you know that she'll be right with you," she said.

"It's not a problem," the stranger replied, "I'm early for check-in anyway."

"Well it's very nice to meet you, young man," the lady said, extending a wrinkled hand. "My name is Elsie Walters, and this here is my husband, Richard." Her equally frail looking husband joined her side and shook his hand.

"Crankurt," the stranger said, "but please just call me Cranky."

"Well that is certainly unbecoming of someone like you," Elsie said.

Her comment caused Cranky to make an uncomfortable face. How could she possibly know anything about him from a handshake? Of course, he knew she was just trying to be friendly. Hell, everyone in this small town was. He could have counted on a single hand how many people he passed didn't wave or wish him a good morning as he made his way into town. Nobody did that in the city. Or at least, not without suspicion of some ulterior motive. After every greeting, Cranky's hands instinctively shot into his pockets to make sure his wallet was still there. And surprisingly enough, it was. The close-knit community culture was not something Cranky was used to but after a few hours of consistent interactions with the locals, he was starting to warm up to the idea. But he couldn't afford to get comfortable here.

"Elsie and I are from the neighboring city, Arklay," Richard Walters explained. "We wanted to go somewhere for vacation but with the stock market doing as well as it did over the last few weeks, we decided not to stray too far."

"That's right," Elsie said, nodding in agreement. "What about you, Cranky? What brings you to this sleepy town?"

"The scenery," Cranky replied, not entirely a lie. "When you've spent most of your life in a smog covered city, sometimes a little fresh mountain air will clear your head."

"Where is it you're visiting from?"

"The United Kingdom."

"Well that certainly is quite a way for you to travel, isn't it?" Richard quipped. "I hear the Alps are especially beautiful this time of year, and much closer to where you're from."

"Oh, don't get me wrong, sir. I work in the UK but home is the good ole U.S. of A."

"Well in that case, welcome home, young man," Elsie said, placing a gentle hand on his knee. Her gaze shot up to someone standing behind him. "It looks like we've been chatting with you too long. Looks like that nice lady would like your attention."

Cranky looked over his shoulder to see the receptionist. "It looks like I have a few rooms for you to choose from, Mr. Crankurt. If you'd please rejoin me at the counter." He obliged and got to his feet, exchanging goodbyes with the friendly elderly couple.

The receptionist returned to her position behind the counter and with a few deft clicks of the mouse, turned the monitor to face him. "We have three rooms available on the second floor," she explained. I highly recommend the corner room as it's flanked on two walls with large windows for an optimal view of the city scape. Popular among budding photographers."

"Is there a price difference?"

"In other hotels, yes," the receptionist admitted, "but not here."

"Well in that case, a corner room it is," Cranky said.

"I'm confident you'll enjoy the view, sir," she replied, placing the room's keycard on the counter.

"I already am," he said, swiping it off the counter and pocketing it. He slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and headed for the elevators, giving her a flirtatious wink before turning his head away.

* * *

**Apple Inn**  
 **Downtown Raccoon City**  
**11:03 am**

Cranky inserted the keycard into the reader embedded in the suite door and watched the light turn green and clicked unlock. He turned the handle and walked into the cool air conditioned room, brightly lit by the morning summer sun. He set his duffle bag onto the bed and turned on the TV, but didn't stand by to watch. The default channel was one of the local news, in the midst of a weather report. Breathed deeply, taking in the sight as the weatherman droned on in the background about sunny skies all week.

The receptionist was right. From here he had a wide view of the city scape, older buildings in the foreground with their brick facades, fire escapes, and rooftop water towers. Farther into the distance however, he could see the larger, contemporary buildings of the uptown district dotting the landscape with light reflecting windows. And overlooking everything was the Arklay mountain range, dominant against an otherwise tranquil sky. He might have had his initial reservations about Raccoon City but seeing this put it all to rest. Maybe this wasn't such a bad hick-town after all.

" _Thanks, Olivia_ ," a male reporter said coming from the television, " _and in local news this morning, Mayor Michael Warren has publically announce the sentence of convicted killer Billy Coen, a former United States Marine, who allegedly murdered twenty-six civilians on a mission in Africa last year._ "

"Well no shit …" The news tore Cranky's attention from the majestic view as he found a new place at the edge of the bed. He rested in elbows on his knees, and his chin on his knuckles watching the news with interest. Maybe this quiet mountain community wasn't so quiet after all.

The news report continued. " _The twenty-six year old was tried by the International Human Rights Tribunal and found guilty of the crime, which carries the death penalty. Coen was convicted earlier this morning. Those present at the trial say that Coen was 'emotionless' and 'cold' as his sentence was being read out. Coen will be transported to the Regarthon Military Base tonight for his sentence to be carried out._ "

Deciding he wasn't in the mood for something so grim especially after having just arrived in town, Cranky flipped the channel to something a little more soothing; in this case, a hippopotamus giving birth on nature program. He shrugged and headed over the coffee maker, placed on the dresser beside the television set. He emptied the coffee grinds into the machine, "Complimentary of the Apple Inn" the card said, and hit the "Brew" button, hearing the machine come to life. A few seconds later, the room was filled with the scene of brewing coffee, a much needed wake-me-up after the long commute.

The baby hippopotamus was already struggling to get onto its feet by the time Cranky reached into his duffel bag and pulled out a large, folded piece of paper. He carried it to the bed and unfolded it, covering a good portion of its surface. The heading on the top of the sheet read, "Raccoon City Municipality" in a Gothic serif font. The illustration showed strips of road criss-crossing the area, with street names painstakingly fitted into the limited space. In between the roads, broad geometric shapes were drawn, representing landmarks that could be found in the city. They were easily identifiable, stupid-proof, for tourists. Even the town's many districts were outlined and coloured in different hues to clearly establish their borders.

The legend also included popular hot spots for recommended leisure activities but he paid that section no heed.

Instead, Cranky reached into the duffel bag and produced a black marker from one of the inside pockets. He bit off the cap, and spat it onto the floor. Kneeling beside the bed, he poured over the map, marker tip following his gaze.

_Swish_

He circled his first location: The local park.

_Swish, swish._

Brentford Entertainment District, and the Raccoon City Police Department Precinct.

Cranky eyed his final location for a moment, wondering whether or not it was worth exploring the area. He tossed the idea in his head for a moment.

"Why the hell not?" he asked himself finally, and _swish._

Raccoon City Secondary School.

The coffee maker clicked off, signaling for him to get back on to his feet. He walked over the cupboards and pulled out the largest mug he could find and emptied half the pot into it. Cranky brought the cup to his lips and sipped the first glorious taste of the local caffeine, still piping hot. He looked down at the map from where he stood, mug still raised to his mouth, and smiled to himself. Only a few minutes and the first day of his stay in Raccoon had already been planned out.

And then he realized, not quite. He spotted the Apple Inn at the southern end of the map, and just around the block, a small square with the words "J's Bar" printed inside it. Cranky made sure to circle the location with a final _swish_ before retrieving the marker cap from the ground and snapping it shut.

* * *

**Coburg District**  
 **Midtown Raccoon City**  
**3:47 pm**

A police cruiser careened down the narrow roads, well beyond speed limits. Kenny and Officer Ryman zoomed by upscale boutique shops that registered as streaks of quaint Victorian-style buildings. Amber lights served as an indication to speed up or they'd be stuck at the inconvenience of a red light for an indeterminate amount of time. Kenny's body had carved out an imprint for itself on the leather seat of the front passenger side of the vehicle. The seatbelt strapped diagonally across his torso had been pulled so tight he could feel it cutting off the circulation to his body - and he would have it no other way.

Officer Ryman sat at the wheel - driver's side window rolled down, resting his arm on the window sill. The breeze ruffled his hair as he wore a wide smile, a deep satisfaction of the cool air against the otherwise intolerable summer heat, betraying his otherwise cool persona. It was enhanced by the pair of sunglasses over his eyes in a Wesker-esque fashion.

The speed at which they were travelling, and the sudden turns the cruiser made at major intersections, it seemed that the only occupant in the vehicle with safety at the forefront of his mind was ironically Kenny - the teenage intern. Sure, Officer Ryman's driving habits made Kenny fear for his life but today, it wasn't what kept him in a deep, long silence. Officer Ryman must have noticed it.

"Thanks for helping me pick up the firearms," he said, trying to change the subject. "Kendo's a real redneck, but he's got a good heart." Officer Ryman was referring to Robert Kendo, the rotund, overall strapping owner of Kendo's Gun Shop, where the RPD often got custom orders and modifications made to their existing equipment.

"Uh huh," Kenny replied distantly. Officer Ryman paused for a moment, waiting for him to elaborate. But a few seconds later realized that Kenny had declined to say anything else, which he took as a cue to continue.

"You've been acting like a robot ever since we left the precinct," he continued, addressing the elephant in the car. "Following orders, fulfilling requests without a word of complaint. I know that's how your normally operate, Kenny but normally you love going on ride-along. And today you've been pretty quiet for this errand, and I know my observational skills aren't anything to be envied but I noticed this. Something's on your mind." Kenny didn't want to announce to the world what had been troubling him. It showed vulnerability, and that wasn't something he wanted to display unabashedly while on the job.

"I saw one of the police reports when I was on filing duty today," Kenny admitted, sucking up his pride. "It was made last week, in the evening, about an attack that occurred in Brentford."

"Damn, that's in your neighbourhood, isn't it?" Officer Ryman asked with concern.

"Just down the street," Kenny confirmed, "and quite frankly, it's got me..."

"Afraid?"

"Y...yeah," Kenny confessed hesitantly. "Scared. I've seen the reports of these kinds of cases before and more often than not, it doesn't end well."

"Listen, kiddo," Officer Ryman placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, keeping the other on the wheel. "I get that the attacks on hikers have been increasing lately. But don't forget that regular man-on-man attacks happen all the time too. Brentford's only been recently gentrified, what, five years ago? It takes time to clean out all the scum. You're just making a connection between the two when there really isn't one."

"You think so, Officer Ryman?" Kenny asked hopefully.

He half-rolled his eyes in response. "I've been an officer for a long time. You think this is the first time I've had to talk to a concerned citizen? It's nothing, I promise. Just keep your eyes out for anyone suspicious and don't walk around at night, especially around that neighbourhood. It's lined with bars and strip clubs, so you're bound to encounter violent individuals drunk off their rockers every once in a while."

"Yes, sir," Kenny said, breaking eye contact, opting instead to continue watching the buildings as the zoomed by. He contemplated the hiker attacks, and how they were the hot topic of conversation at school. Yet Officer Ryman was instead warning him to watch out for the usual drunkards, not the kind of advice he'd be expecting from the police with everything going on.

The radio suddenly blipped to life, interrupting Kenny's thoughts. Rita's voice came through, muffled slightly by static.

"You guys headed back to the barn, Ryman?" she asked. "You're scheduled on patrol in ten and Bernstein's wondering where you are."

"We're en route," Officer Ryman replied. "I'll have Kenny deliver the goods to the STARS office when we get back."

"He's a minor, Kevin," Rita reminded him. "We can't let him walk around the precinct with a case of firearms."

"Yet we let him walk around with trays of coffee and doughnuts piled higher than he can see?" Officer Ryman countered.

Rita sighed in resignation. "I'll be there to assist with the firearms when you guys get back."

"Copy that. Over and out." Officer Ryman turned his head to look at Kenny, who was beaming a smile back at him. "Hear that? Never mind carrying their equipment. You get to deliver STARS's guns now. Moving on up in the world, huh?"

"Sure beats carrying their coffee!" Kenny replied excitedly. "When the guys at school hear about this, they're gonna wish they were me."

"Don't go bragging about this at school," Officer Ryman ordered. "Last thing we need is gun culture spreading around these parts." He thought for a moment, then added quietly to himself, "but with everything that's been going on lately, that might not be such a bad thing." Kenny didn't hear him. The teenager was instead looking out the window, barely able to contain his excitement.

* * *

**West Wing, 2** **nd** **Floor**  
**Raccoon City Police Precinct  
** **4:05 pm**

Kenny's rapid footsteps pattered across the wooden floor of the hallway outside of the STARS office. In his hands, he carried boxes of ammunition stacked high enough, as usual, for his eyes just barely able to peer over the top. A few feet behind him, Rita trudged on, carrying crates of the boxed firearms. She'd decided to let Kenny handle the ammunition. After all, they were only deadly when coupled with guns. But the decision slowed down their pace. Kenny ran ahead with the lighter load, leaving her anchored behind by the weight of the weapons.

"Come on, Rita!" he called excitedly. "We're gonna be late if we don't hustle!"

Rita rolled her eyes. "Never seen anyone so happy to be late before." And then she hollered to him. "Slow the hell down! This ain't exactly easy to carry!"

"No problem, Rita!" Kenny called back. "I'll drop these off at the STARS office and come back to help you –"

Kenny jerked his body to avoid a collision with someone who had suddenly turned the corner. The movement threw a few boxes of ammunition off balance. Kenny watched in slow motion with a look of horror etched on his face as the top few cases fell off the pile, heading straight for the floor. He closed his eyes and saw his job with the RPD slip away between his fingers for the folly, knowing how much money was spent on the equipment.

With lightning reflexes, the stranger bent down and scooped the falling ammunition out of the air, inches before hitting the ground. He'd saved them, and Kenny's budding career in that instant.

"That was a close one, Champ," he said. "Better walk slower next time, or get someone to help you, huh?"

Kenny looked up, way up. And saw a tall man, brown hair cut close to his head. A white T-shirt with the STARS logo was embroidered on each shoulder, covering a powerfully built upper body. He green vest was draped over one arm, while the other held the boxes of ammunition in the other.

"STARS Alpha Team," Kenny mouthed quietly with awe. I wasn't often that he got to encounter the STARS members, and Chris Redfield was the cream of the crop. It was rumored among the interns that he could shoot the cap off a bottle from a hundred meters away. One of the other interns, Isaac Brown, swore by it. Kenny wondered if that was true. And here he was, in the flesh, and all Kenny had to do was ask. Well, there were many things he wanted to ask like how he learned to shoot like that, where they find the courage to plunge head-first into situations that most people ran away from, terrified. He wanted to ask -

"Everything all right?"

"S-sorry, Officer Redfield," Kenny replied sheepishly, snapping out of his thoughts. "I'll remember for next time."

"That's okay," he said, plopping the cases back onto the pile Kenny held in his hands. "Try to be more careful. It's bad enough with people getting hurt on the street. We don't need you injuring yourself while you're supposed to be safe in the precinct, especially when you're not even getting paid." He patted Kenny on the shoulder and continued on his way without waiting for a response, nodding curtly to Rita as he passed her.

Rita approached a star-struck Kenny and tapped her foot loudly on the ground. She would have snapped her fingers if her hands hadn't been full.

"Earth to Kenny," she said. "We're outside the STARS office. Here's where we leave the equipment. Help me with the door, will you?"

"Rita, did that just happen?" he asked, looking up at her. "Did I just run into the legendary Chris Redfield?"

Rita half-rolled her eyes. "Yes, that was Chris. He's a STARS Officer, not a unicorn. Now, come on."

"Y-yes, ma'am," Kenny said, and opened the door for her.

They headed inside to find the STARS office empty – as usual. Kenny and Rita stacked the packages beside the weapon locker while Kenny silently noted that Officer Bernstein's engagement ring was cleverly hidden inside. He hadn't seen so much equipment concentrated in one area before. Unlike the empty STARS office, this was atypical. But he knew that tonight's mission had come out of the blue.

"Hey Rita?"

"Yeah?" replied, still minding the boxes.

"Bravo's going to be sent off for their mission tonight, right? That's what all this equipment is for?"

"They sure are," she confirmed. "Why?"

"I'm just wondering," Kenny began, "my shift is over soon and I have to head to school for History class. But I'd like to come back tonight to see off Bravo Team. Do you think they would mind? I mean, Captain Wesker would have to brief them, and they're gonna need to have their notes prepared."

"You've already worked your hourly quota for the day," Rita countered. "Why would you want to come back and pull overtime?"

"STARS, Rita," Kenny pleaded.

"It's fine with me," she shrugged. "Just don't go letting them think you're gonna be doing this for them every time there's a mission or you'd be spoiling them."

"Yes! Thank you!" Kenny jumped once and threw his arms around her in a rough hug. "This is gonna be so awesome!"

Rita coughed from beneath Kenny's strong grip. "No problem. Thanks for helping with the ammunition delivery but you better get to classes. I don't want to be responsible for your tardiness."

"Got it," Kenny said, releasing her. "Thanks again, and I'll see you tonight!" Without waiting for a response he turned on his heels and high-tailed it out of the STARS office corridor, and down the stairs to the locker room where his backpack and school books were stored for the day.

* * *

**J's Bar**  
**Downtown Raccoon City  
** **4:15pm**

Cranky was seated at a large wine barrel by the windows of the local downtown bar, which served as a table. His small leather pocket notebook was opened in front of him, as he reviewed his notes for the day. His left hand clutched the handle of a thick frosted beer mug, now half full. Cranky took another gulp of beer, while his eyes remained glued to his notebook, reviewing his observations for the day.

The park was nothing to write home about, populated mostly by pet owners and fitness enthusiasts. He didn't find what he was looking for there, but remained confident that the likelihood of it showing up was more than likely, given the summer weather. He decided to check here regularly, and different times of day.

"Can I get you another?" Cranky's thoughts were interrupted by a cute looking blond waitress, blonde hair tied into a short ponytail. She smiled sweetly at him.

"If you wouldn't mind," he replied, smiling back. The women of Raccoon seemed to be that of a homelier stock that the rough, high maintenance ones from the city. They looked healthier, too. Must have had something to do with the clean mountain air and virtually unpolluted lakes and rivers for a water source.

She reached for the now empty mug, which allowed Cranky to get a quick glimpse of her nametag. It read, "Cindy."

"Thank you so much, Cindy," he said.

"No problem, Craig," she replied. Wait a minute. She had a nametag, but he didn't. How in the world could she have possibly know his name? She must have noticed his confusion as she elaborated next. "Your name's on the credit card you left with us at the counter." She placed his empty beer mug on a tray she carried, gave Cranky a wink, and walked back towards the bar to fetch him another drink from the bartender. "Another round, please, Will."

It was difficult, but Cranky was able to wipe away the smile Cindy had placed upon his features and refocused his attention back to his notes. The next locale to review was the Brentford Entertainment District, just a few blocks north in uptown, boasting the highest concentration of the city's clubs, theaters and restaurants. The area sprouted countless contemporary high-rises, populated by, if the pedestrians were any indication, young urban professionals and recent graduates – people his age, but formally educated.

Cranky's cell phone vibrated in his pocket and he reached into his jeans with some difficulty, and pulled it out. "Crankurt here," here answered.

"Are you safely in town?"

"Sure am," he reported. "I'm quite surprised I've ended up in a town like this one, to be honest. It's quaint, with a historic downtown sector. People are nice as they come. Kinda feel out of place, to be honest."

"Any closer to finding the target?"

Cranky sighed. "I just got here. Started scoping out nearby locales and the kind of people who like to hang around them. I should have a good idea of likely hotspots in a day or two. I tried searching at the police station but-"

"No, Crankurt. That is inadvisable."

"It'd be faster," he protested. Cindy was back with his second beer, placing it in front of him. Cranky nodded to her silently in acknowledgement.

"The target is suffering from an acute case of amnesia. We can't afford to trigger any sudden memories. Just locate it, and observe from a distance. Let me know what your observations are and we can proceed from there."

"What do you mean, 'it'?" Cranky asked. "We're talking about a human being here."

"Do you want this to happen or not, Crankurt?"

Damn it. Of course he did. Cranky should have been whole-heartedly accepting any help he could get, instead of questioning his partner's choice of words. "Sorry. Yes, I do. I want this to happen."

"Then you have your instructions."

The caller hung up, and Cranky exhaled through his nose. It shouldn't have been this difficult to collect someone. But with all these rules, the mental state of the target, it just felt so confining to him. Whatever happened to the traditional method of pulling a burlap sack over someone's head and throwing them into the back of a van?

* * *

**Building A: History Wing**  
**Raccoon City Secondary School**  
**4:35pm**

Late. There as a twisted sense of irony of being late for a class based on early events. It was a thought that had crossed Kenny's mind before, but not today. If there was one thing Mrs. Bietelbaum hated more than the indifference for history displayed by today's youth, it was their disregard for timeliness. Kenny slammed his locker shut, and with a binder and history textbook in one hand, dashed up the stairs, two at a time until he reached the top.

It was the last thing he remembered before the world exploded into pain, flying papers, and crashing textbooks. Kenny's rear collided painfully on the linoleum floor. From his peripheral vision, he thought he saw his textbook skid to a few feet away. His binder was splayed open, face down on the ground, loose-leaf notes now mixed in with the girl's.

The girl. He must have crashed into her. Kenny's vision swam for a few seconds, and through the blurriness, he could make out that she was sitting up from having landed on the ground, rubbing her head. She was brunette, with a pixy cut. Fitting jeans barely concealed shapely legs. And as soon as she cleared the strands of hair away from her face -

"Lisa?" Kenny asked. "Shit, I'm sorry. Are you all right?" He got to his feet and extended a helping hand, which she graciously accepted.

"No, it was my fault," Lisa insisted, letting Kenny pull her to standing. "It's just that I'm late, and I wasn't watching where I was going and ..."

"Walrus Lady is going to eat us alive," Kenny said, finishing her sentence for her. "I swear, one of these days, I'm going to slip up and call Mrs. Bietelbaum that to her face."

Lisa smiled. "I'd pay money to see that."

She bent down and began collecting their things off the ground, handing Kenny what belonged to him. After they had successfully recollected themselves, the pair fell into stride with each other and began walking towards the classroom. It was five past 4:30 and the punishment they'd face from Mrs. Bietelbaum wouldn't be any different if they'd been late by five or fifty minutes. They reached the door, which was closed and had been, Kenny guessed, since 4:30 sharp. Lisa slowly placed a delicate hand on the handle, and looked at him, swallowing a lump in her throat before turning it.

"Lisa, wait," Kenny interrupted. She met his look with a confused expression. "There was an attack in Brentford last week. Mr. Hartley heard about it and came to pick me up from the precinct and drove me home."

She sighed. "I'm sorry, Kenny. Dad can be a little paranoid sometimes. I'm sure he didn't mean to embarrass you."

"No, quite the opposite, actually," he clarified. "That was the same night the attack occurred. I came across the police report today when I was on filing duties."

Lisa brought her hand to a gaping mouth. "Oh my gosh, is everything all right?!"

"Everything's fine," Kenny said, waving a hand dismissively. "My point is, I owe him one."

"What are you going to do?"

Kenny took Lisa's wrist and removed her hand from the door handle. He grasped it with his own and pulled the door open, making sure he was the first thing Mrs. Bietelbaum saw as they entered the room. He and Lisa took a few nervous steps into the classroom, which was by now, even though filled with students, so quiet that one could hear a pin drop. The students' heads turned slowly to look in their direction while Mrs. Bietelbaum stood at the front of the room, in front of the chalkboard, white frizzy cardigan concealing her multiple chins. She wore a disappointed frown on her face as if the sheep that were shaved to make her cardigan didn't suffer enough before giving up their wool.

"Kenneth Aaron Feng," Mrs. Bietelbaum hissed slowly. "And to what do I owe this tardy pleasure?"

"Mrs. B, I ..." Kenny faltered, his mouth dry.

"And who is that behind you?" she continued. "Come on, now."

Lisa sheepishly emerged from behind Kenny's form. She hugged her binder closely to her chest, as if it would offer some sort of protection from the tirade their teacher was sure to throw at them.

"Ms. Hartley," Mrs. Bietelbaum said, shaking her said in disapproval. "Mr. Feng, I can understand, with the work experience credit on the side. But I would expect more from someone of your family's position in Raccoon City. I'm sure your parents would be _very_ disappointed to hear about their daughter's lackluster attendance in a very forgiving public education system."

Lisa opened her mouth to object but Kenny cut her off before she could say anything damaging.

"Mrs. Bietelbaum, it was my fault," he said. The other students turned their gaze to him. "I was supposed to carpool with Lisa to class but the precinct had me finish filing some priority reports. They waited for me, and that's why we're both late. Please don't punish her for something she isn't at fault for."

Lisa shot him a look. "What are you doing?" she mouthed silently. Kenny returned the look with a harsh glare, warning her not to say anything.

"That's commendable of you, Mr. Feng," Mrs. Bietelbaum acknowledged. "But I'm going to have to ask for a note from the precinct in order to verify your claims. If you fail to produce one by tomorrow evening, I will deduct five percent from your attendance marks from both you and Ms. Hartley here. And you know what that means - an entire letter grade - which I am sure you're aware, will have unfortunate repercussions on your grade point average. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Feng?"

"Yes, ma'am," Kenny replied nervously.

The two students made their away over to their desks and took their seats beside each other while Mrs. Bietelbaum droned on about the French Revolution. As they opened up their books and uncapped their pens, Lisa looked over to Kenny and whispered quietly enough that she didn't think they could be heard.

"You didn't have to do that."

"Of course I did," he whispered back. "Your dad saved my ass last week. This is the least I can do. Besides, my GPA can take the hit. Yours can't."

"Thanks, Kenny," Lisa replied gratefully. "I really appreciate you covering for me."

"Just make sure you take care of yourself. I've been worried about you ever since that guy Jack came into the picture. You were with him today, weren't you? That's why you're late?"

"We're not having this discussion," Lisa said, shutting down the conversation, "not here, and certainly not now."

"Make that a TEN percent deduction from your attendance marks, Mr. Feng and Ms. Hartley!" Mrs. Bietelbaum roared from across the room. "I suggest finishing up your conversation outside, or I will increase it to fifteen!"

"Sorry, Mrs. Bietelbaum," they muttered in unison.

* * *

**School Courtyard**  
**Raccoon City Secondary School**  
 **6:10 pm**

The sun's position wasn't getting any higher in the sky by the time their summer history class had ended for the day. Aside from Bietelbaum's initial outburst at their tardiness, the lesson had gone by smoothly and had in fact, concluded 30 minutes early, giving the students time to get a head start on their homework. But now, that was over too and Kenny and Lisa sat on the front steps of the school, waiting for Mr. and Mrs. Hartley to pick up their daughter from late-afternoon classes.

Their fellow students fled the school grounds as soon as the bell had rung, leaving in groups and pairs. Kenny quietly watched them leave, going home to their video games, their parties, or whatever social gathering they had planned for the evening.

"They're all participating in tonight's search," Lisa noted, as if she'd been reading his mind.

"What search?" Kenny asked curiously.

"For Charlotte," Lisa clarified, referring to their friend who had mysteriously disappeared recently. "It's been a month now, you know?"

"Oh …" Kenny looked at his feet with guilt. "Of course. Sorry, I must have forgotten."

"Don't sweat it," Lisa said, patting his knee. "You're the only one in school earning work experience credit a year early. I don't think anyone can fault you for that."

"I can," Kenny countered. "She was my friend too. OUR friend. I know I've been skipping out the search as of late. But I promise I'll come tonight. Just as soon as I'm done my evening shift at the precinct."

Lisa gave him a questioning look. "I thought you came to class straight from work. Are they asking you to come back tonight?"

"Nope," Kenny said excitedly. "I'm asking to go back tonight, just for an hour or two. Something big is going on, Lisa. You know the STARS unit?"

"You and the guys mentioned them before," she replied. "They're some kind of special unit within the police force, right?"

"THE special unit, Lisa," Kenny corrected. "It's a secret but I'm gonna tell you. They're being sent straight into the Arklay Forest to investigate the hiker attacks."

Lisa's eyes widened in shock. "Really?! Just as I was starting to lose faith with all the police inaction."

Kenny nodded. "Yeah, and they're going in _tonight_! I couldn't afford to miss the moment, so I'm going into work to send them off."

"You're wasting the secret on me," Lisa chuckled. "I'm sure Justin and Phil would be all over it though."

"Probably," Kenny admitted, "but you're right here and I can't hold it in any longer. But yeah, after I'm done with that, I'll come down and joint he search for Charlotte. Who's in charge tonight? And what neighbourhood are we covering?"

"Mrs. Wade, Luanne's mom is in charge tonight. Whitchley and Winterton neighbourhoods have already been covered. It's Coburg tonight."

Kenny made a face. "That's midtown. We're starting to get into dirty territory."

Lisa shrugged. "At least the precinct is nearby. It won't be far for you to come meet us."

"Sounds like a plan then," Kenny agreed. Let Mrs. Wade know I'll be a few hours late, but I'll show up prepared."

"Ah look at the two little late buddies sitting so cutely together," a piercing voice said, disrupting the otherwise serene nature of the scene.

Kenny and Lisa turned around from where they were seated to see the front doors of the school seemingly open by themselves. Four girls, impeccably dressed, stepped out from inside, high heel shoes clicking on the pavement as they walked. Aside from varying colour schemes, the young ladies looked like palette swapped versions of the same girl; powdered faces, perfectly curled locks, artificially drawn eyebrows and pursed, pink lips. Instead of backpacks, they carried designer purses, slung over a shoulder. The girls stood in two pairs, each standing on either side of the entrance, glaring down at Kenny and Lisa from where they stood.

"Kenny's company is questionable, but I guess he's better than that downtown dog you've been hanging around lately." The owner of the piercing voice was the last to exit the school, clearly the Queen Bee of the hive. A waft of lavender perfume caught in Kenny and Lisa's nostrils. Hair extensions provided extra volume to her blonde, recently permed locks. Sparkling eye-shadow and a thick coat of lip gloss made her eyes and mouth shimmer with every movement, with every line she spoke.

"Julie Wilberforce," Lisa hissed under her breath. She made eye contact with Kenny.

"You ready for this?" he asked her.

"Let's do this." Kenny walked up to the five girls with Lisa keeping pace just a step behind. The girls smirked as he approached. One of them, as blonde as Julie, snapper her fingers sporting bedazzled one inch nail extensions, and held out an open palm. Kenny produced a cigarette from the breast pocket of his buttoned-up shirt and deposited a cigarette into it.

"Last one, Leonie," he said. "If you're going to bum cigarettes off me, at least smoke them. Wearing it behind your ear all day isn't going to make you look any less ugly."

Leonie Brown opened her mouth to retort but Julie cut her off.

"I didn't say you could speak, Leonie."

She closed her mouth and settled with giving Kenny the most vicious stare she could muster without cracking the caked layers of makeup on her face.

Lisa meanwhile stood in front of Julie, trying to make peace. "That's enough, Julie. It's been a month since Jack came into the picture. The jabs are getting old, and I think you need to move on."

Julie's glossy lips curled upwards at the corners, causing Lisa to shudder at the sight. "Girls, what do you think about Lisa's … _suggestion_?" The reply took the form of her four groupies giggling in unison. Julie ran the back of her finger on Lisa's cheek. She then took a lock of her hair and twirled it.

"Dear Lisa," she said in a cold, indifferent voice, "Lisa Hartley. You are Raccoon City royalty. You're aware of this, right?"

"My parents work for Umbrella," Lisa clarified. "Their career choice has nothing to do with me. I just wish you could understand that, and let me live my life in peace."

The groupies reeled back in shock, and even Kenny did to a certain extent. He touched her elbow. "You can't say that, Lisa. Not here."

"You better listen to him," Julie advised. Her tone was a borderline threat. "You've lived in Raccoon your whole life but you've never opened up your eyes to really see what's going on around you. Living in your own fantasy land where the rules don't apply to you. It's selfish, Lisa."

"Selfish?!" her voice raised in volume and she took a step closer to Julie.

"Lisa, please," Kenny took her by the elbow lightly but she pulled it away from his grasp.

"I'm not the one feeding off of Mommy and Daddy's wealth." She gestured up and down at Julie's form. "Look at all this, and get back to me on who's the selfish one."

Julie closed the gap between them by one more step. "Our families are held in high regard in Raccoon City. So if you're going to continue calling yourself a Hartley, you'll ditch that downtown puppy and live up to your family name. If the rest of us followed your lead, the downtown migrants would be running amok in this city in no time."

"That's enough!" Kenny stepped in between the two girls and pried them apart. "Julie, you're not winning any favors by threatening the people who are supposed to be on your side. If you're going to be inheriting the Wilberforce estate, you're gonna need a graduate course in diplomacy, and fast."

Julie folded her arms. "Fine then, Kenny. Let's see how you deal with this one." She tipped her chin at Lisa. "You're the only one out of all of us who she seems to listen to anyway. Come on, girls. We need to get ready for the search tonight." She trotted off towards the school gates, her groupies following behind her. The last girl passed Kenny, giving him an apologetic look.

"Sarah, wait," Kenny pleaded. "You're not really going along with Julie's-"

"Not now, Kenny!" she hissed. "I'll call you later." The girl walked off at a faster pace to catch up with her friends, none of whom had looked back to see that she'd stayed behind for a moment too long.

* * *

**Helipad, East Wing Rooftop**  
**Raccoon City Police Precinct**  
 **7:24 pm**

The evening was considerably cool that night, especially for the middle of summer. The sun's setting rays illuminated the sky with various shades of pink and purple. It was getting late as the bustling activity in the station had slowed down. The officers insisted that Kenny go home and get some rest, but he wasn't going to miss the opportunity to see Bravo Team head into action for anything. He stood on the built-in helipad on the roof of the east wing, freshly printed mission notes flapping the wind. The silhouette of the building's fenced off water tower loomed by the moon. The helicopter body stood proudly at the center of the painted circle, positioned directly on the center of the H. In a few minutes, the space would be populated by STARS Bravo team, so Kenny enjoyed the peace while it lasted.

The back hatch of the helicopter was open. Upon taking a closer look, Kenny noticed that the supplies delivered earlier that day had already been stocked. Someone had just forgotten to close the hatch. In the cockpit, control panels consisted of numerous gauges and buttons, and a few oddly-shaped mechanical controls. Overhead, switches were embedded into the ceiling, just within reach of the pilot.

A sudden movement from the cabin caught Kenny's attention. It was large, dark, and fast, followed by a flash of light, not unlike a spark. His curiosity piqued, Kenny took a step closer to the cabin.

"Hello?" he called out. The only response he got was the wind. "Who's there?"

Kenny nervously clenched his fists. He didn't think he'd be getting to a fight, but whatever it was, the reaction was more instinctive than anything.

"Oh, Kenny," a man said, stepping into view. Dressed in dark STARS uniform with shades obscuring his eyes even in the evening lighting, he recognized the man as Alpha Team's Captain Wesker. Kenny instantly froze, the memory of the Captain's lecture still fresh in his mind from earlier that day. "I …didn't notice you standing there."

From the tone the Captain used, it seemed as if he'd completely forgotten about Kenny's lackluster performance in prepping the meeting room earlier. In fact, he seemed caught off guard, if that was even possible for Captain Wesker.

"I was just checking the helicopter, making sure everything is in order before Bravo takes off for the mission tonight."

"Of course, sir," Kenny said, not knowing what kind of response would be appropriate. The Captain was explaining himself when Kenny hadn't even asked for one. Definitely out of character for the man, and that set off little alarm bells in his head. "I'm sorry to have surprised you. I suppose the mechanics are off tonight."

"That's correct," Captain Wesker said, eager to drop the topic. "You can never be too safe." He headed back inside, brushing quickly past Kenny. But before he re-entered the building, Captain Wesker turned to face Kenny.

"You … didn't see anything, did you?" he asked as casually as he could muster.

"No," Kenny innocently lied.

"Good. Bravo Team should be up here any second. I want you to double check that they've got everything and give them the briefing notes. I'll do the rest of the talking."

As soon as Captain Wesker closed the door shut behind him, Kenny made a dash towards the helicopter cabin to get a quick look. Something didn't feel right to him. Why had the Captain been acting so strangely? Why was he inside by himself doing grunt work?

Kenny shrugged off his suspicions, chalking it up to the excitement of being there before such an important mission. He headed over to the helipad stairs which lead down to the lower level courtyard. Sitting on the top landing, he pulled out a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, smoking the thing while waiting for Bravo Team to arrive.

He looked in the distance from his seat on the roof, and focused his sights on Coburg district just a few blocks away. He imagined now that his friends from school were combing the streets in search of their lost friend Charlotte. A pang of guilt hit him. He should have been down there searching for Charlotte with them, especially as one of her closest friends before she mysteriously disappeared with her family. But tonight Kenny had selfishly opted out for a chance to see the STARS in action.

"That's not true," he told himself. "You'll be joining the search after Bravo Team takes off." Satisfied with his reasoning, Kenny gave himself a reassuring nod and took the last drag off his cigarette before stomping it out with his heel. He stood up from his seat and turned around, noticing that Bravo Team, along with three of their Alpha Team friends had also joined.

Alpha Team vehicle specialist Officer Joseph Frost – the man whose on behalf Kenny had hidden the wedding engagement ring - had already gotten to work inspecting the vehicle. His soon to be fiancée, Officer Amber Bernstein stood by in support, delicate hands folded in front of her body. Kenny hadn't seen Officer Bernstein around much that day, which was odd considering they'd run into each other on a regular basis whenever he was at work. But he turned his attention back to Officer Frost.

"Sir," Kenny called out, "Captain Wesker was checking the helicopter earlier. If anything was wrong, I'm sure he would have notified you."

Officer Frost's bandana-clad head popped out from the cabin. "He was probably checking to see if the equipment was all accounted for. Captain Wesker doesn't do vehicle inspection, Kenny. I do. Or I had better be, cause I'll be damned if I'm doing all this overtime for nothing!"

Kenny then felt a soft hand land upon his shoulder. He turned to look to see Officer Bernstein smiling cheerfully at him. "Why so gloomy, Kenny?"

"I don't think they should be going on this mission," he told her. He couldn't believe he'd developed the balls to say something, but the feeling of dread at the back of his mind refused to die.

"Excuse me?" Officer Bernstein asked, confused. "It's not like you could do anything about this, kiddo, but … why do you think so?"

"I've just got a funny feeling," Kenny admitted, thinking about his brief, mysterious encounter with Captain Wesker mere minutes ago.

"It's just nerves," Officer Bernstein said, giving Kenny's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "This is your first time seeing the STARS in action, isn't it? I know this is something you've been waiting for since you started working here."

"But …" Kenny protested, but got the feeling that she wasn't going to listen.

"All right, men," Bravo Captain Enrico Marini barked. He looked a lot like Officer Sullivan – a tall, silent man with a bushy mustache who spoke more through action than words. He lumbered long in his trademark forest green vest and black combat pants. Kenny had heard people mention some kind of a rivalry between him and Captain Wesker, but Kenny never tried to confirm the rumor, opting out of participating any politics.

Bravo Team scrambled into a straight line in front of their Captain, second in command in the STARS unit only the Captain Wesker. Kenny's eyes traveled down the line, noting member by name in his head. He'd read up extensively on their employee files.

Mullet-sporting Officer Forest Speyer, Bravo vehicle specialist and sniper. Officer Edward Dewey, Bravo pilot, looking like a twin brother to Chris Redfield, but bigger built. They were joined by the other Bravo team mates Kenny had encountered earlier that day; Officers Sullivan, Aiken, and today's new-hire Rebecca Chambers.

Captain Marini cleared his throat. "Kenny?"

The intern snapped out of his trance. "Coming, sir!"

"This mission is mostly intelligence gathering in nature," Captain Marini continued. Kenny reached the row of STARS members and walked down the line, handing out a copy of the briefing notes to each member as he passed them. "Review the information young Kenny here is providing. We are to investigate the mysterious cannibal murders that I'm sure you've all heard about in the news lately. We will be heading about two kilometers north into the surrounding Arklay Forest, where we believe Umbrella has a laboratory. If anyone knows about these attacks, we're sure it will be the Umbrella Researchers up there. We will be carrying firearms with us, but you know the rules. Do not use them unless circumstances require it."

Kenny timed his pace well, handing out the final copy of the notes to Officer Chambers just as Captain Marini finished his short speech.

"Thank you, Kenny," the Captain acknowledged. "You're dismissed."

"Yes sir!"

Kenny stepped away from the group and joined the other guests standing on the sidelines, watching as their friends mentally prepared for the mission. He found a place beside Officer Redfield who, if it not had been for him, Kenny would've had likely destroyed a few handfuls of ammunition that afternoon. Now wasn't the time to be star-struck by the Alpha Team veteran however.

"Officer Redfield?" Kenny asked, tugging at his shirt sleeve.

"What's up, Champ?" he replied, but was clearly distracted by something, as he gazed at his team mates receive their briefing.

"Can you try and stall the mission, maybe?"

"No problem," he mumbled.

Kenny looked up at him, reading the expression on Officer Redfield's face. His brows were furrowed in concentration, lips pressed into a thin line.

Kenny elaborated, hoping to politely grab his attention. "Captain Wesker was behaving strangely just now, before everyone came here. He was alone on the helicopter and I saw sparks flying."

"Sounds good, my man."

Kenny pressed on. "He was acting strangely, Officer Redfield! He said he was checking the chopper but-"

Officer Redfield clasped a hand over the intern's mouth. "Good job, Champ. It's getting late. Better run along home now, yeah?"

Kenny gave a growl of frustration. Officer Redfield wasn't listening. He understood why, though. Kenny practically led the cult following for the STARS members among the interns, and they STARS were kind enough to oblige, allowing him to bear witness to one of their missions, and here he was trying to make a scene.

Officer Redfield gently ushered him inside, while Kenny protested fruitlessly. "Officer Vickers is packing up back at the STARS office. Your place is on his way. Ask him to give you a ride. Tell him I sent you." He closed the door shut, leaving Kenny standing in the upper hallway of the east wing, frozen in mid-protest.


	4. Local Dangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The RPD Precinct is turned on its head overnight by a trio of seemingly unrelated disasters - The Ecliptic Express vanishes, STARS Bravo goes incommunicado, and a convicted mass murderer escapes into the woods. Meanwhile, rescuing a woman from a rape attempt by RPD Police Chief Brian Irons lands Cranky in the midst of Raccoon City's class warfare; a reality that Kenny is accustomed to, spreading even into the halls of Raccoon City High School.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter occurs during Resident Evil 0.

**Thursday, July 23rd, 1998**  
**Apple Inn Hotel Bar, Downtown Raccoon City**  
**11:55pm**  
  
Barbara Wade was seated at the counter of the Apple Inn's hotel bar. It was luxuriously decorated; a rarity in this part of the city. But still, the surroundings made her feel more at home, just a few districts north. Her vision was swimming, her mouth felt dry and her head throbbed with pain. But the whiskey on the rocks sitting in front of her still have a gulp or two left in it. So she curled her manicured fingers around the cold glass and downed everything in a single gulp. She relished the burn traveling down her esophagus, as she could feel the her pain slide down into her stomach along with it.  
  
Tonight marked the thirty-third consecutive night for the search of the Lascelles Family, who had mysteriously vanished overnight. They were among the heads of Uptown Raccoon society, along with the Lonsdales, the Barretts, the Wilberforces, and the Hartleys. Had it been any other family, Mrs. Wade doubted there would be a search of this magnitude organized for their safe return. Robert and Julianne Lascelles, a former RPD officer turned Private Detective and an professional gardener respectively, were partly responsible for establishing the safety and beauty of uptown Raccoon, particularly the Winterton and Whitchley districts, where the cream of the crop resided.  
  
"Julianne was also my friend," Mrs. Wade whispered, staring at the construed reflection of herself in the now empty glass she held.  
  
The Lascelles were well known in the community and continued their work even after meeting each other and falling in love and the young age of seventeen. Their daughter Charlotte attended Raccoon City Secondary School and was good friends with her daughter Luanne. But one month ago, they mysteriously vanished. And as luck would have it, tonight was also her night to lead the search in Coburg for the ill-fated family.  
  
Mrs. Wade could imagine the cries of outrage coming from the searches, and she ran them through her head even though each one caused her pain to worsen.  
  
"Of course she'd be leading the search in Coburg. This filthy district is probably where she grew up."  
  
"You'd think she'd want to be successful in finding the Lascelles. They're the only reason she and her daughter have a place in Winterton."  
  
"We should probably just leave her in Downtown. Maybe the cannibal attackers will do us a favor and get rid of her."  
  
Mrs. Wade held up a finger at the passing bartender with the slicked back hair, who nodded to her in acknowledgement. He got to work right away in pouring her another whiskey on the rocks. She rested her head in a hand while she waited, feeling the return of the headache. Her vision wasn't getting any steadier. In fact, it had worsened and she felt her stomach threatening to throw up her contents. Perhaps she had drank too much for tonight. Perhaps it would be better for her to take the upcoming drink to go and save it for tomorrow night.  
  
"Mrs. Wade," a young voice called, to her left. She looked sleepily at the direction of the voice and spotted the blurry figure of Kenneth Feng, another one of Luanne's friends. Shit. Struggling to regain her composure, Mrs. Wade straightened her back and folded her hands on the counter. But even through her inebriated state, she could tell that the kid wasn't buying it.  
  
"Oh hi, Kenny," she said weakly. "Thank you for taking over the search for me. I'm afraid I wasn't quite up to the challenge tonight."  
  
"I didn't," he admitted. "Mrs. Hartley did, after Lisa told her you had left."  
  
Double-shit. Word of her abandonment had now reached the Uptown parents. Of course it would have. News traveled at light speed in this community, and she'd hear more about her actions tonight at the next Parent-Teacher Advisory Council next month, Mrs. Wade as sure of it. Kenny took a step closer.  
  
"Everyone's worried about where you are," he explained. "They're not looking for the Lascelles anymore. Now they're looking for you. You have to go home and get some rest. I'll spread the word that you're safe and everyone can go home."  
  
"Are they really looking for me, Kenny?" Mrs. Wade asked. She attempted to hide her cynicism to avoid upsetting the poor kid. She thought to continue her sentence, and explain that aside from the Lascelles, nobody from Uptown would care if she lived or died; nobody except her daughter, Luanne. The young teen nodded earnestly in response.  
  
"Fine, I'm just finishing up here," she said. "You go on home first." She already had in her hand the freshly filled glass, plopped down in front of her by the bartender just a few moments before. Unfortunately for Kenny, the bartender had taken notice of his presence.  
  
"Ma'am, I'm afraid you're going to ask your young friend to vacate the premises," he said. "No minors are permitted here after 8pm."  
  
"He was just on his way out," Mrs. Wade assured the bartender, and signaled for Kenny to leave with a flick of her wrist.  
  
"I'll let everyone know you're safe," Kenny said, turning around to leave. "Just make sure you'll get home to Luanne, Mrs. Wade."  
  
Kenny made his brisk exit, nearly bumping into a newcomer to the bar, a tall red-headed man who glared down at the young teen. They stood facing each other for an awkward moment, his broad musculature dwarfing Kenny's modest stature. Mrs. Wade felt her legs tense and fists clench, ready to jump to Kenny's aid should he need it.  
  
Instead, the teen bowed his head politely and mumbled an earnest apology before continuing on his way out. The stranger continued to stare after him, even after Kenny had exited the building. After a few moments, he picked up his pace and swaggered into the bar, glancing at Mrs. Wade on his way in. The man had a moderately handsome face, and although appeared to be at least twice Kenny's age, even through her drunken stupor, it was clear to Mrs. Wade that he was far too young for her to elicit any interest.  
  
She refocused on the drink in front of her and finished the thing in one gulp, while shouldering her handbag in one swift motion. Mrs. Wade reached into her breast pocket and produced a credit card, placing it down on the counter as the bartender retrieved it, inserting it into a handheld machine before handing it over to her. She signed the resulting receipt and marched out of the bar, looking forward to the warmth of her bed.  
  
The cool evening air felt refreshing against her skin as she walked through the threshold of the Apple Inn's lobby doors. Mrs. Wade's eyes scanned the road for the familiar lineup of yellow taxi's usually parked outside awaiting potential clients but for the moment, she saw none. Perhaps she'd just missed the last cab, but there would be another in a matter of minutes anyhow. Just as she had settled into a comfortable standing position to await the next taxi's arrival, Mrs. Wade felt a cold, slimy hand trace a path along the name of her neck, causing her to shudder with uneasiness. She turned her head to face Brian Irons, Chief of the Raccoon City Police Department. He grinned at her from beneath a thick bushy mustache. His slicked back hair gleamed subtly in the moonlight.  
  
"Chief Irons," Mrs. Wade gasped, surprised. "What brings you around these parts?" It was a stupid question, she recognized. The precinct was only a few blocks away with the only other nearby bar being J's. And even sometimes, the place left a little to be desired. It was no wonder she'd run into someone she knew here at the Apple Inn.  
  
"The scenery," the Chief replied, gently running the back of his hand down Mrs. Wade's cheek. A waft of booze hit her like a wall. He'd been drinking too; vodka, if Mrs. Wade had to guess. His hand lingered on her face, and she took Chief Irons by the wrist and slowly removed it. His dark eyes squinted in confusion, his mouth frowned beneath a bushy brown mustache that reminded her of a broom head.  
  
"No, Chief," she said gently. "Not tonight."  
  
"You've been distant lately," Chief Irons replied, advancing on her despite Mrs. Wade's reluctance. She felt his tubby belly rub up against hers, forcing her to take a step back in disgust. He took his large, clammy hands and clasped them around her shoulders. He put his round, fat nose into the side of her neck and sniffed deeply, taking in her womanly scent. Mrs. Wade's skin broke out into goosebumps as the hairs on his mustache tickled her skin. "I've missed you, Barbara."  
  
She placed her hands on his chest and pushed the rotund chief away with enough strength to fall short of violent. "Brian, that's enough." Her tone was as strong as her stance. Her summer skirt and ends of her shoulder length blonde hair flapped in the contrastingly gentle night breeze.  
  
As if suddenly possessed by a demon, the Police Chief turned violent without warning. He dashed at her and their bodies collided. His weight advantaged slammed her thin frame against the brick exterior of the Apple Inn, knocking the breath out of her. Mrs. Wade yelped in surprise, and fear. He had his forearm pressed against her collarbone, pinning her to the wall. His free hand snaked its way under her dress, travelled up the inside of her thigh until it reached ...  
  
"NO!" Mrs. Wade screamed desperately. She pushed against his body with her arms, but his strength, combined with his weight against her rendered her efforts fruitless. He brought his mouth up to her ear and licked her lobe, and whispered harshly.  
  
"You owe me," he hissed. "You think the banks would have approved the mortgage to purchase your Winterton home with a credit history like yours?" She heard his words, but if Mrs. Wade was listening, she didn't show it. Instead, rivers of tears flowed from the corners of her eyes, squeezed shut with horror. "You think your daughter Luanne would be going to the finest school in the city, instead of St. Michael's High? I've bent over backwards for you, my dear. So the least you could do is put the fuck out!" Mrs. Wade let out a loud sob as he began planting rough kisses all over her neck. Downstairs, his fingers had nearly pried their way into her when a deep male voice caused him to freeze.  
  
"Get your greasy hands off the lady before I break them."  
  
The Chief paused his unwelcome advances on Mrs. Wade and turned to look over at the interruption. He moved his head and cleared the view for her to see who it was, and she immediately recognized him as the man Kenny brushed shoulders with as he left the bar - the tall red-haired stranger. He stood nearly a head taller than the Chief, broad shouldered, thick-necked, and fists the size of small boulders. Despite his intimidating appearance, the Chief didn't seem fazed in the least. Instead, he let Mrs. Wade go and stepped toward the man in confrontation.  
  
As soon as she had been released, she collapsed against the wall and slid down, into a squatting position. The grip of fear loosened and from beneath it escaped desperate sobs from the narrow escape. Neither of the men paid her any heed however, as they squared off, sizing each other up.  
  
"Do you have any idea who you're talking to?" the Chief threatened.  
  
"I didn't know pieces of shit had names," the stranger replied.  
  
"Hah," the Chief let out a sarcastic guffaw, jowls shaking, and followed up with a vicious right hook to the stranger's jaw that Mrs. Wade did not see coming.  
  
The first punch had been thrown.

* * *

**Friday, July 24th, 1998**  
**Unknown Location**  
**Early Morning**  
  
Terror struck that night, in a dark sterile room in the center of which stood a cold, metal table lit only by a single lamp casting it in a blinding spotlight. Its tiled floor and walls reeked of disinfectant that seemingly coated them in lacquered layers. At first glance, Kenny made out a mound of flesh lying on the table, partially wrapped in a burgundy fabric. And then it twitched causing his heart to leap into his throat with the realization that the mound of flesh was alive.  
  
Kenny strafed the perimeter of the room, eyes locked onto whatever it was on the table, to get a better sense of what he was looking at. As he moved, the angle of the mound changed and Kenny's brain registered the depth of the form which he slowly recognized as the body of a young boy, barely old enough for school. He laid on his belly upon the metal table, head turned away. If he was cold, he wasn't shivering to show it. The boys shirt was rolled up to his chest, his lower back exposed to the chilling air. Kenny assumed that the burgundy fabric, wrapped loosely around him, served as a blanket and he could see now that it was spotted with patches of white ...  
  
Kenny fell to his knees, sick to his stomach with every gory detail his brain registered. The blanket was white, stained beyond salvation to burgundy with the boy's own blood. Kenny's stomach churned and he dry heaved onto the ground, literally gagging with the overwhelming shock and disgust. Hot tears stung his eyes as he knelt, sobbing and trying to vomit, pinned to the spot with the weight of the sensory overload. Kenny was going to help the boy - he just needed to gather himself first ... one minute.  
  
But the window of opportunity closed without warning with the whirring sound of a drill. Snapping back into the present, Kenny's gaze darted back and forth around the room trying to locate the direction of the sound, but beyond the pool of light was nothing but a dark abyss. The boy reacted to the sound too, in the form of a weak plea.  
  
"Daddy ..."  
  
The whirring of the drill suddenly raised in pitch and in volume and Kenny felt the first waves of panic start to grip at the edges of his sanity. He continued searching for the source of the sound. He buckled his knees, ready to pounce on the child at the first chance he got at the first visual cue, to shield the boy with his body. And then it came, in the form of a silhouette - a man, slight in stature and modest in build, pulling along with him a wheeled tray, just as cold and metallic as the table upon which the child lay.  
  
"DADDY!" The child cried again, more desperately this time. Kenny stepped in to intervene, to cover the boy and that was when he saw the clamps around the child's wrists, neck and ankles, anchoring him to the table. What kind of sick mother fucker would do this to a ...  
  
Kenny's thoughts were cut off by movement overhead, by a mechanical arm that lowered itself into the pool of light, at the end of which sat the source of the whirring; the meanest looking stainless steel spiral drill bit he had ever seen, at least six inches long. Light glinted cruelly from its surface. The mechanical arm moved with calculated precision, finally settling with the drill bit positioned a few feet directly over the child's lower back.  
  
"I want to go home," the child whimpered. "I want to see Mommy."  
  
The man never entered the pool of light, choosing to remain at its edge where Kenny could barely make out his details - glasses and a surgical mask. Did the boy know, who he was talking to? Was this figure his father? Whoever he was, the man remained silent and motionless, except to adjust the glasses on his face. Kenny took a step towards him, to demand some answers - but a step was all he was able to take. The drill roared to life and began descending rapidly down onto the child, instantly redirecting Kenny's attention to him.  
  
"Daddy, please don't ..." the boy begged. Kenny jumped to cover him not really knowing what it would accomplish. "Daddy, no ... please, NO!"  
  
"Daddy, please NO!" Kenny suddenly found himself begging. But his body never found the surface on the table and continued falling into darkness, jolting him awake. "DADDY NOOOOOO!" Kenny shrieked like the child, sitting up in bed, crawling over the sheets, hands desperately clawing at the sheets to find something solid to hold on to. He knew he was awake at that point but the panic attack hadn't subsided. The sound of the drill was still burned into his eardrums, and Kenny swore he could have still heard them.  
  
As the nightmare faded into reality after a few seconds, Kenny's brain started taking over his instincts. He was in his bedroom and after taking a sniff, detected no sterilizing chemicals. The wooden floors and stucco walls, though he could not immediately see them in the darkness, were a far cry from the tiled room. The once exception was the moonlight shining through the open window, casting its own pool of light at the foot of the bed, though square in shape and nowhere near as large as what was in the nightmare. Kenny felt a tickle on both lower eyelids from the tears that spilled. He coughed, feeling the rawness in his throat. He'd been screaming as he slept.  
  
The sound of the drill, as it had turned out, was the ringing of the home phone. It had been an exhausting day at the station and the night search for the Lascelles. He remembered falling asleep upon returning from finding Mrs. Wade at the Apple Inn Bar. He glanced at the alarm clock - 12:43 pm, not late in the teenage world - and took a moment to collect himself before answering by the eighth ring, before the answering machine could kick into action.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
The older male voice on the other end sounded worried. "You don't sound so good, buddy. Did something happen?"  
  
Had it been anyone else, Kenny would've lied and covered his shock from the nightmare, but knew the caller would call me out on it, so he saved the trouble of having him force the information out. "Yeah," Kenny sniffed, "it happened again, Uncle Ken."  
  
"I see." His tone dripped with sorrow, and they both went silent for a moment. But then he spoke again, calmly, and logically. "Night terrors are common amongst kids. It takes some longer to grow out of them than others. As long as you keep in mind that they are a product of your mind, and pose no physical threat to you, you'll eventually notice them fading in frequency and then stop all together."  
  
"How did I get the scar on my lower back, Uncle Ken?" Kenny subconsciously reached behind and traced his finger over the four inch scar that ran vertically along his lower spine, feeling the familiar nooks and crannies of the scar tissue. "That kid I saw ... was that me?"  
  
Uncle Ken sighed with exasperation on the other side. "I told you, Kenny. Your spine was misaligned when you were born. That scar is all that remains of the procedure to correct it before your bones had a chance to harden. You were comfortably sedated lying on an operation table, not fully conscious and secured to a butcher's prep table. These nightmares are probably nothing more than remnants of your emotions during that time, manifesting themselves in the worst possible way. You have got to stop trying to find some deeper meaning behind these night terrors that don't actually exist, if you want to stop experiencing them."  
  
"It just felt so real," he said, not knowing how else to justify his questions.  
  
"They tend to," Uncle Ken said sympathetically. He gave Kenny a moment to absorb his words before continuing. "Anyway, I'm calling to let you know that next month's allowance is coming in early, sans the money for rent since we paid that in advance. I'm going on an extended vacation with your Aunt Eliza and I'd like to stay away from banking during that time. You have plans for any big purchases coming up?"  
  
"No," Kenny replied, "in between summer school and work at the police station, I don't really have time to indulge in anything more than daily expenses. But thanks for letting me know."  
  
"You've always been a hard worker, Kenny," Uncle Ken said, "and these nightmares, maybe you need to take it easy for awhile. Splurge and get yourself something nice."  
  
"It would be nice," Kenny offered, "if you guys come to Raccoon City for a visit. It's been years since I've seen you. We could go to the zoo - the only zoo in the county to have a real life elephant! Then we could see the largest clock tower in the mid-west, St. Michaels Tower, and ride the city tram that would take us there!" The prospect of showing Uncle Ken and Aunt Eliza the wonders that Raccoon City had to offer excited him, making him almost forget about the night terrors he jolted awake from minutes ago.  
  
"No." His words were solemn, tinted with regret, but mostly stated as a matter of fact. "Limited contact, Kenny. You know this."  
  
"Doesn't mean I understand why," Kenny retorted bitterly. "Everyone else at school and the police station has a family. And Officer Frost and Officer Bernstein are about to start one of their own. I'm the only one here without - "  
  
"WE are your family," Uncle Ken interrupted, mildly irritated. "Just because we're not there doesn't mean we love you any less. You understand that, don't you, Kenny?"  
  
He had a point, but it still didn't sit right with Kenny no matter which angle he looked at the situation. 'Limited contact' Uncle Ken called it, without giving Kenny a shred of reasoning as to why it had to be that way. And every time Kenny brought it up, he would be advised to stop looking back and keep his focus on the future, to focus on building a life for himself in Raccoon city. Exhausted from the day and the nightmares, Kenny decided that now wasn't the time for an argument, but the topic was far from coming to a close. "I understand."  
  
"Good," he said. "You can expect your allowance to be deposited a week from tomorrow. In the mean time, you take care of yourself. I'll check back next month. Goodnight, kiddo."  
  
"Goodnight, Uncle Ken." The phone clicked as he hung up and Kenny was once against left to the silence and darkness of his bedroom. His eyes darted to the square pool of moonlight on the floor at the foot of the bed as he recalled the nightmare, now slightly faded after the conversation. The lingering memories of it sent a chill up his spine, as I once again crawled under the covers, feeling very much alone.  
  
Kenny fell gradually asleep to under the light of the full moon shining through his window, and what the depths of his mind registered as human moans, barely audible, from the forests beyond the city limits.

* * *

**Holding Cell**  
**Raccoon City Police Precinct**  
**3:48 am**  
  
The barred gates of the jail cell slammed with a deafening shut that echoed off the concrete basement walls. Cranky had been led down here by a stocky, well groomed Officer whose clean-shaven jaw and slicked hair made him look like he'd be more comfortable on a yacht on the open ocean eating caviar and sipping champagne with a following of import car models. If Cranky had been ten years younger, this was a man he would have targeted as a victim whose wallet was ripe for the picking. A quick glance at his badge pegged his name as Tim Lonsdale, and surname that he recognized.  
  
The Lonsdale Construction Group was, at least in the United States, a domestic developer of railroad parts and equipment. Their logo was plastered along the walls of most subway stations in the country that Cranky had seen, and it wasn't until his arrival into Raccoon City that he noticed they were local to the town - even having the center of the city's railway lines, Raccoon's answer to New York's Grand Central Station, named after them - Lonsdale Yard. He wondered if this Officer was in any way affiliated with the group, or if his shared name was simply coincidence. Though, it would explain the prep look he sported.  
  
Officer Lonsdale locked the gate, leaving Cranky seated on the fold-out bench inside the cell, wrists handcuffed together, to rot for who knew how long until someone came for him. His was the very last cell in a row of three. Strangely enough, the two other holding cells in the basement of the RPD Precinct were empty. This little fact contributed to his opinion that the small quiet mountain city was more peaceful and quiet than anything he was used to. Holding cells were never unoccupied at any time of the day in bigger cities, and he knew from experience. It was almost too quiet for him. Beyond the bars, he spotted a wooden shelf on which sat a box of state of the art arrows for a bow gun. He thought it was strange that they would leave ammunition sitting out here in the open, instead of locking it safely away in storage.  
  
It had been roughly two hours since Cranky was met by Officer Lonsdale and a colleague at the lobby of the Apple Inn. He'd had a hard time getting to bed after treating his bloody knuckles with a layer of aloe lotion provided by the hotel, and wrapping them nice and tight with the laces from his shoes. His bruised face was screaming bloody murder but had eventually overcame the pain and found some level of sleep for the night. But he couldn't have been asleep for longer than a few minutes before the phone call came for him to meet with the police downstairs.  
  
Cranky had taken the elevator down to meet them. His jaw and cheekbone hurt from when the Chief landed some pretty good jabs. His lip was split and had since developed a gash of dried blood. Knuckles were torn open and the laces that he had wrapped around them were crusted with coagulated blood that pinched his raw skin. Despite his bruised, torso, face and knuckles, Cranky was definitely looking much better than the state he'd left the police Chief in - only recently learning who the man was - bloody and battered on the pavement. The woman he'd stopped from receiving a full-on rape was nearly inconsolable when he'd approached her, sitting against the wall of the hotel crying uncontrollably. This wasn't Cranky's first time in a jail cell and he'd be damned if he didn't think it a trip to the hotel bar for fries and a milkshake to curb his midnight munchies would ever lead to one. He thought the good Officers were there to take a statement from him and was appalled that they were in fact there to lock him up. Raccoon City might have been a small town, but pigs were pigs no matter where one went.  
  
And speaking of pigs, his thoughts were interrupted by Officer Lonsdale once again, this time with an unnamed colleague. He unhooked the ring of keys from his belt and slid the door open. Cranky stood up and cooperated, allowed each officer to take an elbow and lead him down the dark, dank cement corridors towards the parking garage. If the cells were meant to keep potential inmates isolated from the general hustle and bustle of the police station, they certainly did the job, located underground at the farthest tip of the building's east wing.  
  
"You hardly gave me any time to marinate in there," Cranky commented to the two silent Officers escorting him across the parking garage. They responded by grabbing his elbows tighter and walking him faster to their final destination, wherever it lay in this castle of a precinct.  
  
A short walk up the stairs to the main floor of the station, through the east office, and around another corridor was where they led him, right towards a fluorescent lit room with a one way mirror embedded on a wall. A table was placed at the center of the room, at which Mrs. Wade was seated. She'd cleaned up a little since their encounter. Her hair looked a little damp from a recent shower. The makeup that ran down her face with tears earlier was cleaned off, revealing delicate porcelain skin. Instead of the floral summer dress, she was now covered in a gray business suit and a matching knee-length skirt. Her solemn face morphed at the sight of him, into an expression of internal pain. He must have looked like hell to elicit that kind of reaction out of her. Officer Lonsdale and his colleague deposited Cranky in the seat facing Mrs. Wade. They looked at each other for a moment, neither party sure how to start the conversation.  
  
"Are you okay?" they asked in unison. Still awkward.  
  
Mrs. Wade sniffed into her handkerchief. "I can't believe you're asking me that when you're the one looking like that."  
  
Cranky gave an indifferent shrug. "I'll be fine in days. You won't." Mrs. Wade didn't respond. Instead, she continued staring at the wooden pattern of the table top in front of her, where Cranky had his hands folded, fingers on one hand hiding the bloody knuckles of the other. "Mind telling me why our fine Officers brought me up here? I was trying to get some sleep." His tone dripped with sarcasm.  
  
"I spoke with the Chief," Mrs. Wade finally said. She brought her eyes up from the table to meet his gaze. "Nobody's pressing any charges. You're here to be released."  
  
Cranky's mouth dropped open. "What do you mean nobody's pressing charges? What are you doing talking to the man who tried to rape you hours ago?"  
  
"Battery of a police officer is a serious crime," she explained.  
  
"No shit," Cranky spat. "So is attempted rape."  
  
Mrs. Wade shook her head. "Brian is a powerful man. I offered not to press charges if he would extend the courtesy to you."  
  
"Brian?" he asked, appalled. "You're on a first name basis with the creep? A creep who's in charge of," Cranky twirled a finger in the air, "all this?!"  
  
She nodded and brought her handkerchief back to her nose. "Thank you for interfering when you did," she said, trying to end the conversation. "I hope I've returned the favor." She then nodded to Officer Lonsdale's colleague, who approached Cranky with the keys to his cuffs. She picked up her handbag from the floor and began heading towards the door.  
  
Though Cranky let the Officer uncuff him, he was steadfast in his resolve to not let the conversation die there. He chased after her.  
  
"Hey, I'm not finished here!"  
  
Mrs. Wade walked quickly, high heels tapping on the flooring a few paces ahead, widening the gap between them the longer the officer continued to fumble with his handcuffs. As soon as he was freed, Cranky stood up from the chair and jogged after her.  
  
"Lady, if you don't press charges, you're keeping that sicko in power," he protested.  
  
"Stirring shit up with people at that level isn't worth the trouble it will bring," she replied, not slowing down one bit. "News spreads fast in Uptown. I can't afford to throw away everything I've got just because some slimeball slid his hand up my dress."  
  
"He was going to do worse." Cranky protested.  
  
"Yes, but because of you, he didn't." She stopped in her tracks and he followed suite, and they both now stood outside the doors of the east office, in the waiting area. "And I'm repaying the favor now by releasing you from rotting for the rest of your life in some prison."  
  
Cranky threw his hands in the air. "So, that's it, then? We're even, so let's pretend like none of this ever happened?"  
  
"That's exactly what I mean," Mrs. Wade confirmed, whispering harshly. "Now, dial down your tone, Mr. Crankurt, before you draw any more attention."  
  
"You're unbelievable," he said with exasperation, clapping a hand to his forehead.  
  
"No, I just live in Raccoon City," Mrs. Wade countered, "and going by the sound of your rhetoric, you've been here barely a week!"  
  
"Barely a day," Cranky corrected.  
  
As the argument died down, the both of them gradually became more aware of their surroundings. Movement in the window of the east office drew Cranky's attention. The room was unusually populated with police officers at this time of the morning, with roughly half of them talking frantically on phones, while the other half ran around with stacks of papers in their hands. He cocked his head in the direction of the office.  
  
"No other deadbeats in the cells downstairs," Cranky said, "So what are these guys fussing over?"  
  
Mrs. Wade's expression was one of concern, now that she too had seen the spectacle. All pretenses from their previous conversation were gone, now that this new mystery had caught their attention. "I'm not sure. I mean, the attacks on hikers have been increasing lately. But to warrant this kind of attention? Something serious must have happened."  
  
The officers behind the windows spoke frantically, and loudly, enough for them to listen from where they stood. Cranky and Mrs. Wade, as casually as possible, leaned against the window frame to hear better, though they could only make out snippets of the sentences spoken.  
  
"... departed Raccoon City Lonsdale Yard at 8:15pm, July 22nd. Repeat, Ecliptic Express #722 bound for the Arklay Municipality Region..."  
  
"Regarthon confirms that as of 0300 hours, they have not received the package."  
  
"... Bravo team is incommunicado. I repeat, STARS Bravo team is ..."  
  
"What the hell is going on?" Mrs. Wade asked rhetorically, though it seemed like she was looking to Cranky for answers.  
  
"Hell if I know," he replied, transfixed by the chaos in the office.  
  
"Can I help you two?" an authoritative voice interrupted their eavesdropping.  
  
An African American Officer stood before them, thick arms folded in front of chest.  
  
"Oh ... no, Officer," Cranky stuttered, "we were just ..."  
  
He nodded, cutting him off. "I know what you were 'just'," he replied sternly. "This is classified police business. Please wait out in the main hall for assistance." He gestured towards the door at the far end of the corridor.  
  
"We didn't mean to intrude, Officer Branagh," Mrs. Wade said, giving Cranky the suspicion that she was no stranger to the police department for some reason.  
  
"Now is really not a good time, Barbara," he said, gentler this time. "If you want to know what's going on, there will be a press conference tomorrow morning, so keep your eye out for the papers. We're already having a tough time fending off the media hounds."  
  
"Sure thing, Officer Branagh," Mrs. Wade replied, heading towards the main hall as ushered by him. Cranky followed her into the large, expansive hall. Officer Branagh accompanied them up until they left the east wing, and closed the door behind them. Cranky and Mrs. Wade exchanged concerned glances, both knowing there wasn't anything further for them here at the precinct.  
  
They walked out the double doors into the courtyard and Cranky took a deep breath of the fresh night air. Towards the east, the sky obtained a bluish hue, a sign for the imminent sunrise. Mrs. Wade produced her car keys from her breast pocket and clicked a button on the attached keychain. A red sports car parked across the street from the precinct blipped to life, head and tail lights blinking twice.  
  
"Look," she said, turning to him, "I know I should have said this earlier, but really. Thank you for what you did for me tonight. Not a lot of young guys who'd stick their neck out for a tired old hag like me."  
  
"I'm sure anyone would have," Cranky replied, knowing full well how full of shit his statement was. "I'm just glad I got there before anything worse could have happened."  
  
"You know ..." Mrs. Wade started, but then paused, unsure of how to phrase what she wanted to say. "There's a thing going on tomorrow night in Whitchley District. A couple of filthy rich neighbours moved in from out of town and they're throwing a housewarming soiree. I'd love it if you came with me."  
  
"Umm ..." Now it was Cranky's turn to struggle for words. "Listen, you're beautiful woman, but ..."  
  
The look on Mrs. Wade's face hardened into an angry scowl. "Because the Chief also happens to be on the guest list, along with other high profile guests. And quite frankly I'd like to limit my chances of being alone in his ... company."  
  
"Isn't there a Mr. Wade?"  
  
The hard scowl now melted into a sad frown. "He's ... no longer with us," she admitted sadly. "He was a local journalist who barked up the wrong tree." She turned around and looked at the Gothic facade of the precinct they just stepped out of. " A very big, Umbrella Corporation funded tree. "  
  
She turned her attention back to Cranky. "So, please say you'll come with me. It's the creme de la creme of Uptown's citizens."  
  
Up to that point, Cranky was more preoccupied with his objective in Raccoon, but the moment Mrs. Wade mentioned "Uptown", it captured his interest and conveniently aligned with his goals. "You said anyone who's anyone in Uptown will be there?"  
  
"And their kids," Mrs. Wade clarified, almost bitterly.  
  
Cranky fought to contain wide, excited grin, but he managed an interested smile at Mrs. Wade instead. "Looks like I'll be seeing you tomorrow night then." Cranky rubbed his hands together from the excitement, though he feigned the chills. Chances were high that his target would be present. His informant forbade him to interfere for the time being, but at least he would be able to observe.  
  
"Need a ride back to the Apple Inn?" Mrs. Wade offered.  
  
"I'll walk," he said. "After being cooped up in that jail cell for a few hours, I could really use one." He turned around to walk off but she stopped him with another question.  
  
"All right then, Mr. Crankurt. I'll swing by at 6:30pm. I don't suppose you brought a suit?"  
  
Cranky shot her a look of confusion over his shoulder. "Not exactly. Will I be needing one?"  
  
"Uptown soiree," Mrs. Wade reminded him. "Make it 5:00pm tomorrow. There's a boutique downtown specializing in formal wear and galla costumes. They've got a lot of items including a replica STARS women's outfit, and a futuristic battle suit coupled with a red wig. But they'll be sure to carry suits for someone of your ..." she motioned at him with her hands "... proportions."  
  
Cranky rolled his eyes. "Sounds more like brand identity crisis to me."  
  
"All right, I'd better get home to Luanne. I'll see you at 5:00pm sharp at the lobby, Mr. Crankurt."  
  
"Have a good night, Mrs. Wade. See you then."

* * *

**Courtyard**  
**Raccoon City Secondary School**  
**11:55 am**  
  
"You look like hell."  
  
Kenny removed the smoking cigarette from his mouth with two fingers and stared incredulously at his lanky friend, Justin Thomas. "Well aren't you just a stud muffin this morning," he retorted sarcastically, reaching over, grabbing the rim of Justin's backwards baseball cap and twisted it on his head so that it faced forward. The movement shifting long brown bangs over his friend's eyes. Once positioned properly, Kenny gave his friend a pat on the head, while he scowled in protest. "Much better."  
  
"Screw off," Justin said, swatting Kenny's hand away. They shared a good-hearted chuckle before settling down again. "But seriously, dude. What's with the grocery bags under your eyes? Stayed up too late playing video games again? I swear, Mrs. Bietelbaum was growling at you for almost falling asleep in class this morning. Late yesterday, now this? It's not like you, Kenny. Practicing for a rematch against Bernstein at the arcades again?"  
  
"No," Kenny confessed, shaking his head. "I wasn't playing video games. No amount of practice could beat the legendary Jason Bernstein at Road Brawler II: Speed Edition. This is something else." Kenny looked to the ground with droopy, tired eyes. "I had the dream again." Just as he did, he felt Justin's hand come down heavy on his shoulder.  
  
"Yo, K-Feng," he said supportively, "Night terrors aren't anything to be ashamed of. I told you, I used to have them when I was younger too."  
  
"We're fifteen now, for Christ-sakes," Kenny said, picking away at a rock in his shoe, as the pair of them sat at the front steps of the school. He glanced up at the bright blue sky, checked with random patterns of cotton-like clouds. A flock of geese flew overhead in a perfect V formation. "Aren't they supposed to stop well before the teenage years?"  
  
Justin shrugged, readjusting the basketball jersey that had scrunched underneath his armpits. "Everyone's different, man." He reached into the pocket of his shorts and pulled out a marijuana joint, and held it beneath Kenny's nose. "This stuff helps."  
  
Kenny crumpled his face in disgust and pushed Justin's hand away. "No, that's not for me. Could never get over the stench."  
  
"Snooze, you lose," he said, lighting it up with a lighter that Kenny handed over. Justin took a deep drag, smoking it like Kenny had smoked the cigarette in his hand, now ready to be put out against the concrete steps of the school entrance.  
  
"It just ... felt so real," Kenny said, hugging his knees. "You know when you wake up from a dream, you could swear it had just happened for real? You usually get over it and realize it was just a stupid dream but this is different. that feeling never went away. And it matches up perfectly with the scar on my back."  
  
"You're looking way too deeply into it," Justin assured him. "Maybe you're just trying to think up of an explanation of how that ended up there in the first place. I think the noises from the forests at night are starting to get to you."  
  
"You hear them too?" Kenny asked, suddenly interested.  
  
Justin nodded. "Oh yeah," he said, midway through a deep breath pulled from the joint. He exhaled and a thick plume of white smoke emerged from his mouth, along with the stench that Kenny found hard to stomach. "It's lower than a baritone, but some nights I hear them. Sounds like people if you listen closely enough."  
  
"It doesn't creep you out?" Kenny asked, hoping for some answers.  
  
"No way," Justin replied. "My parents say it's just the wind blowing through the trees."  
  
"That would raise the pitch," Kenny countered, "not lower it to a baritone."  
  
"You got a better explanation?"  
  
"No," Kenny said, accepting defeat. "You're lucky you've got your parents to explain your suspicions away."  
  
Justin choked upon his next exhale. "We're not having this conversation again, are we?"  
  
Kenny put his hands up in defense. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bring us down that road."  
  
"They're out there," Justin assured, for the hundredth time in their five year friendship. "That rich Uncle of yours is helping you, isn't he? And with the connections you've got here in Raccoon, it's only a matter of time before you find your family."  
  
"I know," Kenny said in resignation, "I just wish I could remember -"  
  
But the conversation died there, in an instant.  
  
"Oh my gosh," the familiar piercing voice interrupted. Both Kenny and Justin instinctively shuddered, a response common among the students of Raccoon City Secondary School upon registering the voice of Julie Wilberforce. The two boys turned their heads into the direction of the sound and spotted Julie, in all her bedazzled glory, heading towards them, with her entourage in tow. Except this morning, Kenny noticed, her usual groupie of four girls had been reduced to three. Luanne was missing.  
  
Apparently, Justin had noticed too, as he tipped his chin in her direction. "Looks like the Bee Hive is one member short today," he quipped.  
  
"Ugh," Julie replied, rolling her eyes, "Luanne called in absent today. Something about her Mom going through a tough time." She joined Justin and Kenny, her remaining three girls standing behind her glaring at them with arms folded. "Look at you," she said, giving Justin a light kick on the toe of his shoe. "Smoking pot in front of the school. I swear to God, Justin Thomas, it's like you're purposely ruining your future in this town." She rested her elbow against her hip. Both boys covered their noses at the overwhelming odor of her lavender perfume.  
  
"The fuck do you want, Julie?" Justin asked, irritably. Julie shifted her weight onto her opposite leg, barely covered by the thigh high skirt fastened around her waist.  
  
"Oh? Aren't you happy to see me?" she sneered. "Of course not. Who am I kidding? After all, you got what you wanted from me last summer, you sorry excuse for a man."  
  
He stared back at her hatefully. "Me, and half the school. And to be honest, I was expecting more but, meh," he shrugged, "the burger never tastes as good as it looks on TV."  
  
Julie swiped the joint from Justin's fingers and took a deep drag herself. He was being a gentleman about it, letting her do as she would. Dumb as he was, Kenny knew Justin knew better than to piss off a Wilberforce. When she was done, Julie dangled the joint in front of him. Justin looked back her fully expecting her to hand it back to him. Instead, she dropped in on the ground, causing Justin to give a soft yelp of dismay. She brought a designer shoe down upon the joint, snuffing the embers, flattening it to the thickness of a sheet of paper. Her face contorted into a twisted smile as she flew a thick plume of white smoke in the air, smiling evilly down at Justin's shocked expression.  
  
He stood up angrily to confront the school's Queen Bee. "Piss off, Wilberforce," he hissed angrily. "What are you trying to do, start up some trouble? "  
  
She rolled her eyes, not the least bit intimidated by Justin though he stood half a foot taller than her. "There are better things to do with my life than waste it by making yours miserable," she sneered. "You're doing a good job of that already. Besides, I came here to talk to Kenny."  
  
She bent down, took Kenny by the elbow and pulled the shorter boy to his feet, while he protested. "The hell?!" he cried.  
  
"Don't you even dare," Justin threatened her. "One word to Phil Barrett and your little empire is gonna come crashing down on itself overnight."  
  
Julie let out a fake laugh. "Phil?! If that meathead is the best you boys can come up with, I've got nothing to worry about." Still holding her grasp on Kenny's elbow, she began walking away with him in tow.  
  
"Hey!" Justin protested.  
  
"Girls!" Julie ordered. "Make sure Justin Thomas doesn't get within ten feet of me and Kenny!"  
  
Like perfectly trained soldiers in high heels and mini-skirts, Julie's groupies formed a line between her and Kenny, and Justin. They crossed their arms over their ribs and glared menacingly at him while Julie scurried away with his friend.  
  
"What's this all about, Wilberforce?" Kenny demanded the moment they were far enough away that Justin couldn't hear their conversation.  
  
"You're a nice guy, Kenny," she replied, "you really are. And I know you care a lot about other people. Just like my best friend Lisa."  
  
"One," Kenny held a finger in the air, "you know as well as I do that you're using Lisa's status to boost yours, so cut the crap. And two, I know where you're taking this little conversation and I'm not interested in entertaining you."  
  
"What?" Julie replied, faking a gasp. "Don't you care about Lisa?"  
  
Now it was Kenny's turn to roll his eyes. "Of course I do. Now really, get to the point."  
  
"Look," Julie sighed, "I know you, Justin, Phil and the other guys have your differences with me and the girls. But Lisa bridges our two groups, don't you agree?"  
  
Kenny shrugged. "She just tries to make peace with everyone," he admitted. "It's not a bad thing. In fact, I wish I had the gall to attempt a feat like that. But you," he jabbed a finger at Julie, "You're always making things worse. If Lisa bridges our two groups, you're the one perpetuating the gap. And the bridge is about to snap. So you'll pardon me if your concern comes as a bit of a surprise."  
  
"I'm concerned because we're losing her," Julie said. All pretense of fake emotion had left her tone, which had now transformed into a cold, business-like matter-of-fact assessment. She's been distant as of late, stopped inviting us to parties at her place, acting like she's not interested in talking to us. It's ever since she met that stupid puppy dog of a lover, Jack Carpenter."  
  
"Umm ... you're the one who organized all the parties at Lisa's place without even telling her."  
  
"The point is, those parties don't happen anymore."  
  
"Well I wouldn't blame her, Jules," Kenny said, walking ahead of her. "Lisa seems to really like Jack. And we haven't exactly been welcoming to the guy. Between us and him, it's a no-brainer on her part."  
  
Julie took Kenny by the shoulder and spun him around to face her. "I'm not losing my best friend to downtown scum, Kenny," she insisted. "We all know what they're like; dirty, penniless, amoral ... and that is exactly what Jack is. How can you just stand idly by and let him take advantage of a sweet girl like Lisa?"  
  
"Because I don't think he is," Kenny replied simply, "but I sure as hell think you are. She's happy with him, Jules. And there's no way the likes of him will ever be counted among our ranks. I told her what I think about him, so what she chooses to do now falls squarely on her shoulders. If it's worth it to her losing all of us and keeping him, then good for her. And if he's just using her for a good lay, she can't accuse us of not voicing our concerns."  
  
His response didn't satisfy Julie, as she glared hatefully at him. "You're not helping the situation."  
  
"Then what do you want me to do?!" he asked, exasperated.  
  
"I want you to separate them," Julie said with finality. "I want my best friend back."  
  
"And how exactly do you propose I do that?" Kenny asked.  
  
"I don't know," she shrugged, another slimy smile forming on her face, "but I trust you'll find a way."  
  
Kenny shook his head. "Kiss my ass, Julie. I'm not helping you start the next popularity gong-show of the school year. I'm struggling enough to keep my friendship with Lisa without your interference." He turned around to head back to Justin, who remained where they were earlier, facing off with the three of Julie's groupies.  
  
"My father's a lawyer, Kenny," she caled after him. "I know about your status here in America." He spun around, eyes and nostrils flared in anger. How in the world did Julie know? She wore a smug smile on her face, hands folded behind her back in mock modesty. "Word gets around the school pretty damn fast. I know all about the shit you say about me behind my back, but I also know all the shit people say about you."  
  
"You wouldn't dare, you sniveling little ..."  
  
"One phone call to my father about the legitimacy of just how you infiltrated our cozy little mountainside community and you'll be booted back to Japan." Kenny couldn't believe what he was hearing. the life he'd worked so hard to build for himself was threatened by a high school girl over some popularity contest. It seemed inconceivable, but here she was, standing right before him muttering that very threat.  
  
"If you don't help me with our little issue with Jack Carpenter," Julie continued, her voice sing-song voice soft and sly, "I will see to it that my father gets you out of this country on the same leaky boat Jack came on."


	5. Inferiority Complex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The RPD holds a press conference to update the public on the missing STARS Bravo Team. Raccoon City High's queen bee - Julie Wilberforce - uses Kenny for her political gains. Cranky is invited to an uptown soiree held to welcome the newest wealthy family, in the interest of injecting new money into the plummeting economy due to the rumors of missing hikers. In a bid to retrieve Bravo, the RPD deploys STARS Alpha Team to the Arklay Mountains unannounced.

**Friday, July 24th, 1998**  
**Raccoon City Police Precinct**  
 **1:00pm**

For the fifth time that week, Kenny trudged up the paved walkway towards the grand entrance of the police precinct like he had done so many times before. Except the first few times, when he had started working here months ago, it was with his mouth agape, unable to believe he had scored a position at the police station, partly due to the building's grandeur but mostly because of his newfound proximity to the STARS members. But as with any job, the honeymoon phase ended shortly into it. And he quickly learned why at the end of the day, it was a job ... one that he wasn't getting paid for but he didn't feel like going down that route today.

And again, for the fifth time that week, he tugged open the teal doors and walked inside, the threat from Julie still fresh in his head. But for the first time during his tenure at the precinct, the sight the befell him was one of pure chaos. The threat Julie posed instantly dissipated as he stared in shock at the officers running around like headless chickens, carrying stacks of paper, screaming into walkie-talkies , or trying to talk over one another. He spotted Officer Branagh standing outside the east wing entrance, backed into a corner by a group of media personnel aiming microphones at his face as if they were weapons. A blonde female reporter in a maroon suit looked to be leading the charge, talking excitedly into the mic before pushing it back to him. Officer Branagh's forehead was dotted with beads of sweat. He sported dark circles under his eyes, and come to think of it, Kenny remembered reviewing the schedules yesterday, that he was down for the night shift. What was he still doing here?

Before he could speculate further, Kenny felt a tug on his arm. He turned to face Rita, looking equally panicked and fatigued.

"Just in time," she said, talking quickly. "I'm going to need you to man the front desk for me. I've got to get going to the briefing."

"Briefing?" Kenny asked, bewildered. "There wasn't a meeting scheduled for this afternoon, was there? I would have prepped the room last night ..."

"Something came up this morning," she replied, cutting him off. "The chief's called for an emergency meeting with senior officers and STARS Alpha."

"STARS?!" Kenny could feel the excitement build up inside him. But Rita rolled her eyes, as if she'd expected the kind of reaction she would have generated from him mentioning the special forces unit.

"I can't explain right but just get your butt over to the front desk and help me fend off the media. I'll fill you in later." She gently forced a stack of folders into Kenny's chest suddenly, which he struggled to keep from dropping, and patted him on the shoulder before running off towards the west wing.

Kenny dashed over to his station at the main desk, to his spot beside Bernice. He would've walked, but the mob of reporters following Officer Branagh towards the same doors Rita had just trotted through would have trampled him if he hadn't picked up the pace. Kenny plopped the file folders down on to the desk and collapsed into his chair. Bernice welcomed him with her trademark warm smile.

"Just another day at the office, huh?" she joked, turning back to her screen. Her fingers continued tapping away at the keyboard at a spreadsheet she was working on.

"Well Bravo's probably back by now," Kenny offered. "I'm excited to hear what they found, too. But I guess it makes sense I'm not exactly a priority for any updates. Still, though." He gave a slight pout and bent down to hit the power button on his computer tower, below the desk. What he didn't notice though, was that Bernice had once again taken her eyes off her screen and looked at him above the rims of her glasses.

"Kenny," she said, struggling to form the sentence as she spoke. "STARS has returned from successful missions before with much less fanfare." Still bent down, he peeked at her from under the desk.

"What's that supposed to mean, Bernice?"

Her gaze sagged downward, and she folded her hands across her lap. She explained quickly without making eye-contact.

"Bravo never made it back."

_**THUMP** _

"Ouch!" Kenny's head thumped against the desk in reaction to Bernice's words. He rose to a sitting position, rubbing his forehead while wincing in pain. "What do you mean they never made it back? They're still in the forest?"

Bernice shook her head sadly. "I've said too much."

"That's not an answer, Bernice!" Kenny insisted.

"It's not my answer to give," she pushed back. "Now I suggest you get to work, before Rita comes back and finds out we've been gossiping the whole time." She swiveled around to face her computer with such finality that Kenny didn't bother to pursue the issue - at least not until Rita got back.

But before he could open his notebook to review his to-do list, Kenny's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the main doors opening, followed by the loud protests of a blond youth, who Kenny recognized as Jack Carpenter, a class mate from school. He was being forced inside by Officer Aaron, a sturdily built cop, brown hair cropped close to his scalp, who nobody screwed around with; not even the STARS members. Jack's bangs swayed in front of his brows from the force Officer Aaron employed to keep him under control.

"Yo, lemme go, man!" Jack cried. "I told you, I be doin' nothing wrong!"

"Settle down, kiddo," Officer Aaron ordered, "or you _will_ be doing something wrong."

From the entrance, Jack noticed Kenny watching them, and his eyes widened with renewed hope. "Kenny! Kenny, please help me!" he called desperately. "You know these guys, bro. You know me. Tell 'em I be doin' nothing, man! You know I'm not some thug!"

Kenny broke eye contact immediately and busied himself with absent-mindedly flipping through the stacks of paper Rita had tossed him earlier. But it was too late to feign the innocent bystander image, as Officer Aaron whistled to him and beckoned with a flick of his stubby fingers to come over. Kenny signed, standing up from his seat and made his way over to the steps leading towards the main entrance, where Officer Aaron now stood with Jack.

"Sir," Kenny requested, "would it be okay if I just had a few words with Mr. Carpenter?

Officer Aaron smirked with amusement and consented. "You kids really need to find time to socialize in school," he said. "You boys have five minutes, but I'm not going anywhere." He pointed to the corner of the raised entrance platform, where potted herbs were placed against the wall. "Talk there if you want any privacy."

Kenny turned to Jack and the boys headed towards the corner. They spoke in harsh whispers.

"Thanks, man," Jack breathed with relief. "I totally owe you one, and if you need any favors, I swear ..." But Kenny raised a hand to cut his peer off.

"I choose not to associate with people like you if I can help it," Kenny said. His words were harsh, but his tone was sorrowful, something that Jack had apparently noticed with his brows furrowed in confusion.

"...like me?" Jack echoed. His expression pleaded for elaboration.

Kenny was having trouble wording what he wanted to say next, and gave a sigh. "The financially challenged. You've seen the kind of reaction your presence in Raccoon City High has caused."

"They all wish I be dead," he agreed, nodding sadly.

"Right," Kenny confirmed, "and do you really want to drag her into that?"

"You talkin' about Lise?"

Kenny was taken aback at hearing Jack's nickname for her. Nobody in their circle had referred to Lisa Hartley as 'Lise", but it made sense, coming from Jack. Come to think of it, Kenny found the name a little endearing. "Yeah, he replied, "I'm talking about Lisa. Do you really want to step in and turn her into the next target of this dysfunctional uptown circle? It's like, Jack, who do you think you are?"

Jack put his hands up in defense. "I din' do nothing to Lise. I din' tell her to do nothing, either. I just be her friend, man. An' she be my friend. That's all it is. Lise is a free girl, man. She can do whatever she wants, and I be happy for her. But I never told her to do nothing!"

Kenny gave a frustrated sigh and turned around on his heels, back towards Officer Aaron. Whether or not Jack was in the wrong, it wasn't the point. It was what Jack was doing to Lisa by choosing time and again, to involve himself. But he wasn't listening to a word Kenny was saying. And furthermore, there was Julie's earlier threat. Jack had to back off, or else who knew if Julie would follow through? It wasn't a risk Kenny was willing to take, so he pressed on.

"I tried to be diplomatic, Jack," he hissed angrily, "but you're clearly not willing to listen, so let me say this. Stay the hell away from Lisa or there will be some real trouble at school." Intent of having the final word, Kenny began walking towards Officer Aaron who gave him an inquisitive look.

"I'm done with him, sir," Kenny announced as he strode back angrily towards his workstation. Jack's cries of protest once again filled the air as Officer Aaron put his hands on the struggling teen, and hauled him off towards the east wing interrogation room for questioning.

* * *

 **Apple Inn**  
**Downtown Raccoon City  
** **2:26pm**

When Cranky saw no end to the incessant ringing in his ears, he decided he would have to wake up in order to kill it. Rolling over in bed, he opened his eyes lazily and the image of his cell phone resting on the bedside table came into focus, rumbling obnoxiously against the wood surface. His face still ached, and his knuckles felt as if they were on fire. Cranky gave a guttural groan and flung his arm across his body, his hand slamming down onto the phone. He curled his fingers around its small mass and pressed the "answer" button with his thumb.

"Crankurt here," he growled into the phone.

"Whoa, sorry didn't mean to wake Sleeping Angry, there," came the sarcastic voice on the other end. Cranky felt a pang of annoyance at the back of his mind, and then realized he hadn't been in touch for some time.

"Swear to God," Cranky said bitterly, "you're like a jealous girlfriend without any of the benefits."

"Where the hell were you last night?" the informant continued, audibly irritated. "I've been trying to get in touch for hours now!"

"Ran into some trouble last night," Cranky reported, "found some guy trying to rape a drunk lady. Fought him off but found out later the guy was the chief of police. My ass spent the night in a prison cell as a result, until the lady came and got me out of it."

"You what?!" the informant cried. "Crankurt, if you're going to accomplish your mission, I strongly advise you get your head out of your ass and focused on your objective. I don't need you starting up drama with the local populace. "

"Well what the hell am I supposed to do?" Cranky said angrily. "You want me to locate the target, but I'm not allowed to engage. So I'm sitting here, bored out of my mind - and hungry - so I go out to grab a late night bite and this shit happens to me. Believe me, I'd love nothing more than to focus on the objective and get the hell out!"

"Stay there, await more information and don't get yourself into trouble," the informant replied. "That's not too much for me to ask, is it?"

"Well I'll have you know that I'm able to confirm the target's presence in Raccoon City," Cranky said smugly. "Saw him with my own eyes. And tonight, I'm going to get confirmation on his residence in town."

"And how are you going to do that?"

Cranky felt a sly smile creep across his features. "Getting into 'shit' with the local populace didn't leave me without leads. I'm headed to a neighbourhood party tonight, with the Uptown residents. Anyone who's anyone in town is going to be there. And I'm telling you, I'm going to find what we're after."

A few moments of disbelief followed from the informant after absorbing Cranky's words. "I'll be back in touch with you tomorrow morning at 8am sharp. I want a report, Crankurt."

"You're welcome," Cranky replied sarcastically before snapping the phone shut.

Deciding that he'd had enough personal drama for a day, it would be nice to focus on somebody else's. And laying the phone back down on his bedside stand, Cranky kicked his feet up and lay back in bed, tucking an arm behind his head while the other reached for the remote and turned on the TV. If drama had been what he was looking for, it didn't take long to find it. The TV turned on to a news channel with the words "Breaking News" at the bottom right hand corner of the screen in bold font. The screen showed images of the Lonsdale Yard, and a series of trains flashed across as a reporter's voice narrated.

_"The Ecliptic Express was a prototype train, the first of a luxury line of models planned by the Lonsdale Construction Group. It was the first of a series of voyages scheduled into the early 2000's. Lonsdale stocks have soared since its announcement in late 1996, but as of last night's events, it is unclear if the company's shares will continue to skyrocket, plateau or worse, decline. The train carries a reported two hundred and seventy six souls, who in just over six hours, will be officially considered missing if contact is not made before then. Over to you, Brandon."_

The television cut to a middle-aged news anchor sporting a bushy moustache and slicked back hair, eerily reminding Cranky of Chief Irons.

" _Disturbing news, indeed, Olivia,"_ he said with a shake of the head. _"Well I'm afraid I won't be faring much better. Raccoon City's crème de la crème of our fine officers in blue, the STARS Bravo unit, left last night in what was supposed to be a covert operation to investigate recent mounting reports of attacks on hikers in the Arklay Mountains."_

Cranky leaned forward with interest and propped his elbows up on his knees. Clasping his hands, he rested his chin upon his fingers and continued watching intently as the television cut to an image of the police chief, standing behind a podium speaking to the media, his words occasionally punctuated with a blinding camera flash. The sight of the man who he'd fought not even a day ago caused Cranky's stomach to churn.

 _"Bravo Team departed for the Arklay forests at approximately 10pm last night,"_ Chief Irons announced to the info hungry media. _"They went silent shortly thereafter. We do not have any confirmation on their whereabouts, or their well-being. In response, the Special Tactics and Rescue Squad is assembling their Alpha unit with the intent of executing a rescue mission. Their objective is to locate and extract the Bravo team members, and the effort will be spearheaded by none other than our very own Captain Albert Wesker, who, if his impressive list of accomplishments is of any evidence, will lead the Alpha team to success."_

The Chief then nodded, signaling the end of his announcement. In that second, a hundred hands sprung up, calling out his name, hoping to get a few seconds of his attention. He then motioned towards a blonde reporter clad in a form fitting petticoat. She nodded curtly and spoke.

_"Alyssa Ashcroft with the Raccoon Times, Chief Irons. It was reported yesterday that a war criminal, formerly of the United States Military, Colonel William Coen, was being transferred to Regarthon Base in Rose Bay City for his execution sentence to be carried out, and that his convoy was travelling through the Arklay Mountains around the same time contact with Bravo Team was lost. Do the RPD suspect a connection between the two incidences?"_

The chief dismissed her questions with a wave of a stubby hand.

" _At this time, we have no information connecting the two. Next question please."_

Cranky found himself folding his arms across his chest. He smirked in bemusement. On the surface, Raccoon City appeared to be a sleepy Midwestern mountain community but in his short time here, had discovered there was much more going on beneath the town's deceptively serene facade. Either he had come at just the right time, or this place was more screwed up than it appeared.

His cell phone blipped to life once again, tearing Cranky's attention away from the television set. He grabbed the phone - this time it was a text message. A few button presses took him to its contents.

_"Finished errands early. Will swing by at four-thirty. Enough time in advance?"_

Truthfully, Cranky was thankful for the earlier time change, despite it only by thirty minutes. He would have been bored to tears otherwise. Not that he wasn't already.

He texted her back. _"Sounds good."_

Setting the phone back down onto the bed side table, Cranky reached for the TV remote with his other hand and shut it off. Enough news for now. He rose from the bed and strode over to the work desk, picking up the duffel bag on its surface. He dug around inside and spotted a change of clothes; shorts, a t-shirt and a towel. Confirming its contents, he zipped it closed and slung it over his shoulder. A quick workout at the hotel gym, and a sandwich from the bakery across the street would kill enough time until Barbara showed up. If he was going to go through the unpleasant experience of clothes shopping, he would at least do it on a full stomach.

* * *

 **Building A: History Wing**  
**Raccoon City Secondary School  
** **6:00pm**

The school bell rung, signaling another end of another summer-school day. The students looked up from their books and began them up, along with any residual stationary. Mrs. Bietelbaum sat at the teacher's desk at the front of the room and looked above the rim of her glasses at the departing students.

"Don't forget about the quiz next week!" she called into the crowd on students who clearly paid her no heed. Noticing this, she shrugged. "Don't say I didn't warn you," she mumbled before scribbling a large red F on a student's assignment sitting in front of her.

Kenny, meanwhile, was among the first to leave class, hurriedly making his way towards his locker. He'd barely registered Mrs. Bietelbaum's reminder. Turning out of the classroom and down the old building's locker-lined hallway, Kenny broke into a brisk walk as he headed for his locker; a seemingly random orange, full length contraption with a chain hastily attached on the top hinge to keep the door attached. Kenny shuddered at the memory of Phil Barrett and Tyrone Hayes, stuffing him inside, back when Kenny had been the new kid in school. They quickly learned their lesson however, as Kenny smirked, reaching into his breast pocket, producing a cigarette. When they realized that the fake ID Kenny had fashioned for him by a contact at the RPD, and that he could buy what they were otherwise too young to come into contact with; alcohol and tobacco, the left him well alone after that. Sometimes even approaching him for favors.

He unpacked his backpack, placing his heavy textbooks into the locker, along with his now completed homework for handing in first thing next class. Sure that it had its contents emptied, Kenny slung the now lightened backpack over both shoulders and closed the locker door, snapping the lock shut.

The closing door revealed the form of Julie Wilberforce, leaning against the locker casually with her arms folded across her chest. Kenny took a step back in surprise, not having expected to see her, let alone with her groupies not present. She looked at him from the corners of her heavily mascara'ed eyes as her pursed pink lips pressed into a slimy smile.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" she asked in a breathy voice of indifference, although Kenny knew she wasn't in terms of what he had fully expected her to ask him. He tried to ignore the elephant in the hallway.

"Big night at the RPD," he replied, and then looked over his shoulder at her. "You heard about what happened last night, right?"

"The escape convict, the missing train, and STARS Bravo?" she replied, then rolled her eyes. "My parents say it's all an exaggeration to get Raccoon feeling uneasy. The Londsdale Group is branching into security, and they want to create demand for home-security systems. What better way than to highlight news like that? Plus they've got man on the inside, one of the heirs, Timothy Londsdale, at the RPD. You probably know him."

"Officer Londsdale wouldn't do something like that," Kenny retorted defensively.

"The William Coen case isn't exactly low profile," she continued, ignoring Kenny's protests. "They're calling him a mass-murderer but it's not like he's a serial killer. It was a contained situation in Africa. He's not about to go off raiding homes and killing people for shits and giggles."

Kenny's eyes widened in surprise. "You're actually educating yourself in current events?"

Julie shrugged. "With someone that cute, how could you not?"

"How's Luanne's mom?" Kenny asked, changing the subject. With Julie's groupies not around, he thought now would be a good time to ask for an update.

"I don't know," Julie confessed. "But Luanne's been ... distant today." This was one of the very few times that Julie let her guard down and exposed a shred of human decency, and Kenny was sure to take note of it. She shook her head. "She's usually pretty loyal with me, but then today, not even a text, and ignoring mine."

Never mind. All shred of human decency was gone, with her self-centered approach. Julie continued.

"Mary's saying her Mrs. Wade got raped last light."

Kenny felt his throat sink into his stomach by the news. "What?! By who?"

"I don't know," Julie said, "but I'm betting it's the Chief. Barbara Wade pretty much slept her way into Uptown with that pervert. The guy's got a hidden rap sheet longer than my hair extensions. Maybe if she'd stuck to her job, leading the search for the Lascelles, none of this would have happened."

"I just saw her last night," Kenny said, staring at the ground in shock. "I asked her to go home to Luanne. She told me she was, and to go on ahead without her."

"So you were with Mrs. Wade before it happened?"

Kenny nodded. "Yeah. There was someone else too. Real scary looking. Tall and big, bigger than Phil. He glared at me until I left."

Julie's jaw dropped open. "You don't think he could have been the guy, do you?"

"I don't know," Kenny admitted, "I'm just telling you what I saw. I should probably call her. I feel like maybe if I'd stuck around, I could have stopped it."

"HAH!" Julie laughed, unexpectedly. She placed a well manicured hand on his shoulder. "That's cute, Kenny. But what could you possibly have done? Forget Phil and Tyrone. I could stuff you in this locker."

"Try and you'll be hosting dry parties until you're twenty one," Kenny threatened, "and Leonie can look forward to quitting smoking cold turkey."

Julie narrowed her eyes at him. "You play your cards well, Kenny."

A third voice, this one male, interrupted their conversation.

"Picking on little kids again?" It was Justin Thomas's tall, lanky form approaching them. He tossed basketball in one hand as he walked, freckled face contorted into a disdainful sneer. "Just get out of here Julie. You know Kenny doesn't like you and honestly, neither do I."

"Oh, well if it isn't Jones-ing Justin," Julie retorted. "So tell me, what illegal substance are you propagating throughout our ranks this week?"

Justin shrugged. "Prostitution was the original plan, but then I realized you probably already have that area covered."

Kenny held up a hand, signaling for Justin to stop another bickering session with the school's Queen Bee. "Not right now, Justin. There's something I need to discuss with Wilberforce in private."

"What?" Justin asked in surprise. "Dude, you know who you're dealing with, right?"

"Trust me, I got this," Kenny insisted. "Please, Justin. Keep walking."

Justin held his hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, man. Don't say I didn't try to stop you getting involved with the likes of her." He backed off and continued on his way down the hall.

"What a nice friend," Julie noted sarcastically.

"Cut to the chase. What are you really here for?"

"I want to know how your day went."

"Well," Kenny noted, entertaining her, "after having the pleasure of chatting with you this morning, I proceeded to the vending machines to purchase a small decaf light roast with two creams and one lump of sugar before heading off to Math ..."

"Did you talk to Jack?" she interrupted.

The gig was up. She finally had gotten straight to the point. "Yeah. And lucky for you, they hauled him into the precinct this morning. I got a chance to talk to him. Told him to stay away from Lisa like you asked."

"And what did he say?" Julie pressed.

"Nothing," continued in a calm manner. "He just looked at me like he wanted to kill me. And who knows what kind of weapons him and his Aunt Rosa might own? If he's after me now, I hold you responsible, Julie." Kenny finished and turned around and began heading towards the building exit.

"I'm not finished with you yet, Kenny!" Julie screeched when he was a good distance away, but Kenny didn't care. Repeating the incident at the police station with Jack infuriated him. Lisa Hartley belonged to one of the ruling families of the city, with enough political clout to topple the Wilberforce estate. Pity that Jonathan and Elizabeth Hartley had their noses buried too deep into their research to realize what was going on around them, and poor Lisa had to bear the brunt of the politics; politics that manifested itself in the form of Julie Wilberforce. When he first arrived in Raccoon, Lisa had been there from day one and remained the only person who stood by unwaveringly by this side. And over the past few years, Kenny reciprocated and had gradually become of the few uptown kids Lisa Hartley trusted with her life - an honor he'd never known previously.

"I said I'm not done!" Julie hissed, grabbing Kenny by the shoulder and spinning him around to face her.

But what Julie saw was not the calm, indifferent visage that had walked away from her moments ago. It was Kenny's red, tear streaked face, expression crumbled into a hateful scowl.

"Well, I am," he said. Kenny's fingers curled tightly into balled fists, trembling at his sides. "I did what you asked. And I'm finished being your political puppet."

"As long as I hold your immigration status in here," Julie threatened, tapping a finger against her head, "you'll be whatever I want you to be."

"Fuck you," Kenny said and turned around to continue on his way.

But a step or two was all he was able to take as his momentum brought him into the presence of Lisa Hartley - his friend - who stood there, eyes glaring hatefully at him from beneath brown bangs. Her face was equally red as his, the corners of her large brown eyes spilling fresh, hot tears down her face. Lisa's wore an expression of pain, of betrayal. From behind him, Kenny heard Julie gasp, as if she had been just as surprised at Lisa's presence as he was.

Lisa took an exaggerated, delicate step towards Kenny and put her hands on his shoulders. She looked him squarely in the eyes and whispered, "Please don't tell me what Jack said was true."

"I don't know what Jack told you," Kenny replied gently, cupping her face between his hands. With his thumbs, he rubbed away the tears streaking down her face. "Lisa, please."

"He said you told him to stay away from me," she said, visibly shaking from restraining her anger. "He said you threatened him." She shook her head in disbelief. "Tell me it's not true, Kenny." He looked into her eyes. The poor girl didn't want to hear the truth. She was practically begging him to lie.

He looked over his shoulder at Julie, who stood behind them with a bemused smirk. She slid her tongue across her top row of teeth and taunted him with a wink. But Kenny couldn't lie. Not to Lisa.

"It's true, but ..."

Before Kenny could carry on, the felt the hot, painful sting of a violent slap across his left cheek. The force threw his jaw over his right shoulder and he stumbled backwards from the shock. He stumbled to regain his balance before crashing into Julie. The Queen Bee however, didn't seem the least bit fazed. Instead, she looked at Lisa.

"Christ, Kenny," Julie mocked. "Did you really threaten Jack today? You've sure got some balls doing that, especially when you know him and Lisa are ... how should I say this? Romantically involved?" Julie trotted over to Lisa and put a pair of comforting hands on the girl's shoulders. She whispered audibly into Lisa's ear. "I'd be careful who I hang around with. Kenny not exactly the best example of Uptown Raccoon, given the company he keeps with Justin Thomas and Phil Barrett. Guess we can't expect anything more from someone who was abandoned by his own parents." She tossed her head and walked down the hall, completely content with herself.

"Abandoned?" Lisa asked incredulously. All indication of her previous hostility was gone now, having transformed completely into a question borne out of sheer curiosity. "What is she talking about, Kenny?"

* * *

 **La Boutique**  
**Brentford District  
** **6:24pm**

"It's perfect."

Cranky cocked an eyebrow in disbelief at Mrs. Wade as he stared at himself in a full length mirror, one of many that lined the stores of "La Boutique" in Uptown Raccoon City. In a retail store filled with outlandish costumes, of which included a female battle-suit with red wig and STARS uniform as Mrs. Wade had mentioned before, he was nearly floored to find a suit, let alone one that had somewhat fit him. He gave a quarter turn towards the mirror examining the cut of the suit, and where the seams, cuffs and collars fit on his frame. The collar, even with the top button left unfastened, wrapped a little too tightly around his neck. His hands appeared like giant bricks beyond the cuffs of the black jacket, fastened with two large black buttons on his lower abdomen. Mrs. Wade tugged at the emerald tie she'd tied expertly around his collarbone and now stood in front of him, sliding the knot up towards Cranky's throat.

"This should bring out your eyes," she said, taking a step back from her handiwork. She placed her hands on her hips and took a step to the side, allowing Cranky to examine himself in the mirror.

"Well that's one more item to cross off my worry-list," he noted sarcastically. Cranky raised his arms into a T-pose, noticing the shoulders of his jacket rise in response. "But my range of motion isn't exactly varied."

"Varied enough," Mrs. Wade chuckled, slapping lightly on the shoulder. She stepped towards an approaching sales clerk, high heels tapping against the linoleum flooring. "We'll take it."

The sales clerk bowed her head in acknowledgement while Mrs. Wade pointed towards the changing room. "Get back into your clothes," she requested. "I've got this covered." She reached into the breast pocket of her dress shirt and produced a credit card.

Cranky frowned disapprovingly at her. "You realize I'm only going to be stuck in this get-up for one night, right?"

"I'm not going to lose face bringing an under-dressed guest to tonight's soiree," Mrs. Wade said with finality. "Now, get!"

Cranky did as he was told and disappeared behind the full length curtain to the adjacent changing booth. Mrs. Wade, in the meantime turned around to give him some privacy, facing the entrance of the store, just in time to see the boutique doors swing open to reveal the form of a middle-aged man, blonde locks slicked back against his skull.

The man took notice of her presence and greeted her with a warm smile. "Barbara," he said, clasping her hand in his. Piercing blue eyes stared into hers with subtle accusation. "What brings you to La Boutique?" His tone, while amused, was borderline shocked.

"Lawrence Wilberforce," Mrs. Wade replied with mock courtesy, "what a pleasure to run into you. I'm just here with a friend shopping for an appropriate outfit for tonight's welcoming soiree for the new Whitchley family. I'm simply thrilled to welcome such fresh, wealthy blood amongst our ranks."

"As you would," Mr. Wilberforce replied, eyeing Mrs. Wade suspiciously. "We certainly are thrilled to welcome the ... um, the family ..." He twirled a finger in the air to recall their names.

"Their daughter is Milly, I believe," Mrs. Wade added, hoping to jog his memory as she found herself unable to recall their first names.

"Yes, Milly," he agreed, "the new girl, and her parents."

"And how is your daughter, Julie?" Mrs. Wade asked, folding her hands politely in front of her.

"She's legitimately concerned for your well being," Mr. Wilberforce asserted. He combed a lock of his hair behind his ears with his fingers. "I understand you went through some trying times last night."

"Nothing I won't be able to overcome," Mrs. Wade reassured him.

"Attempted rape is hardly something to easily overcome."

Mrs. Wade froze. She hadn't released the details of last night's ordeal. Yet here he was, the slime-ball of Raccoon City suggesting she had gone through exactly what she had, without any concrete proof. She didn't know which scared her more; his accuracy, or the fact that he'd achieved it without a shred of credible evidence. Thankfully, she did not have to continue the awkward conversation, as Cranky emerged from the dressing room clad in his regular street clothes consisting of a white T-shirt and boot-cut jeans. In one hand, he held the suit on a hanger and headed over to Mrs. Wade. That was when he noticed the additional company.

He wiped his free hand against his thigh and extended it to Mr. Wilberforce in a friendly gesture. Instead of returning it, the older man looked down with an expression of disdain at Cranky's calloused hand, and back up at his face, and finally back to Mrs. Wade. Cranky realized that he must have looked like hell to the gentleman, with a cut lip and bruised face from the brief physical confrontation with the police chief the night prior.

"This is your 'friend', Barbara?" he asked her, tipping his chin at Cranky's general direction. "A little young, don't you think?" Mrs. Wade opened her mouth to retort but Cranky was quicker at the draw.

"Not young enough to be spoken for though, I assure you," he asserted, positioning himself between Mr. Wilberforce and Mrs. Wade. "I don't believe I've had the ..." Cranky looked him up and down, "...pleasure." He stood with squared shoulders, free hand in the pocket of his jeans, with the other holding the hanger with suit draped over his shoulder.

"Lawrence Wilberforce," the older man replied. He nodded curtly. "I'm sorry to be a bother. I should really get to collecting my _personalized_ order from the service counter. Good day to you."

"Can't imagine you'd have anything to add to your wardrobe for tonight," Mrs. Wade quipped, from behind Cranky.

"Oh, it's not for me," Mr. Wilberforce assured. "It's a necklace for Julie. She insisted on it, and we know what teenagers are like when they've found their voice, but not their independence." He parted and headed for the cashier, back turned to Mrs. Wade and Cranky.

As soon as he was a safe distance away, Cranky whispered to Mrs. Wade. "Is that the kind of company you keep?"

"Just keeping up appearances, Mr. Crankurt," she replied in an equally hushed whisper and headed towards the second till to pay for the suit. "Lawrence Wilberforce is only one of the top lawyers in town, sporting deep connections with the Umbrella Corporation. His name is among the elite in Raccoon City so in the future, I'd appreciate it very much if you would let me take the lead."

"Lady," he said, irritated, "let's not forget one simple thing. I'm the one doing you a favor. We might be square from last night, but after tonight your rich ass is going to be in my debt. Again."

Mrs. Wade met him with a puzzled expression. "You're keeping tabs?"

"Damned straight, I am."

The response earned a curious look from Mrs. Wade. She tilted her head and looked at him for the corners of her eyes suspiciously. "You don't come from privilege, do you?"

Cranky took a step back, alarmed. Who was this woman? How was she able to spring such judgment on him without him suspecting it? And that's when he realized it.

"Hmph," Mrs. Wade said, turning her attention to the suit, which she took from his grasp. "I didn't think so."

"Good to know I've got some company in Raccoon City then," he replied without missing a beat.

* * *

 **Rooftop Helipad**  
**Raccoon City Police Precinct  
** **7:33 pm**

For the second night in a row, Kenny stood on the helipad rooftop of the RPD precinct, the same cold breeze whipping at his form. The same, clouded, purple sky loomed overhead, coloured by the setting sun. He gazed out into the city, noting how quiet it had gotten. Normally the streets would be busier, abundant with night life. But with the cannibal murders, he supposed people were starting to get a little nervous. He also subconsciously noticed a strange scent lingering in the air, an odor that reeked of sickness and decay. He blinked his eyes and took another breath through his nostrils, but this time he wasn't able to detect it. Strange indeed.

But he couldn't shake the ominous of something heavy in the air. It was just like last night; the same air, the same sky, the same place. Bravo never returned home. Would this mission end with the same result as well?

Kenny looked over his shoulder at the STARS Alpha team members, mentally preparing for their mission. Officer Chris Redfield sat on a crate lining the wall beside the door leading back inside. He was checking his handgun, loading it with 9mm rounds as he sat, looking like he had trouble moving his combat gear. Beside him, Office Jill Valentine stood in her blue fatigues and impossibly large shoulder pads. She stood with one arm folded casually, the other holding a smoking cigarette. Different ways to cope with the same kind of stress, Kenny guessed.

Unlike the night before, the mood was much more somber. The air hung heavy over everyone's heads. Captain Wesker delivered the briefing speech as Kenny once again scrambled to hand out the notes to the half-attentive STARS Officers. There were not standing disciplined in a neat row like their predecessors. They looked as if they were half listening to Captain Wesker's words.

Officer Joseph Frost sat silently on his knees on the pavement of the helipad, quiet as a ghost. His eyes were locked onto the ground before him while his girlfriend, Officer Amber Bernstein knelt beside him, tying his bandana tightly around his head. It was then that Kenny remembered the ring that he hid in the STARS locker. Officer Frost was going to propose to her with that ring the moment he got back from the mission, at least that's what Officer McGraw had conveyed. He was going to make Officer Bernstein his wife. And indeed now, that's what they looked like; a married couple. She was the loving wife, preparing to see her husband off to war while she remained at home to worry at every waking moment for his safety. She hadn't made a single joke to Kenny or anyone else that day. Whatever was going through her head, it was enough to stifle her normally cheerful nature that evening.

A trail of tears dripped down the side of Officer Amber Bernstein's face. Her eyes were red, bloodshot, but she carried on performing her duties, focusing on making Officer Frost as comfortable as she could before he left her. Looking at them, knowing he had play a part, however small, in their future together, compelled Kenny to say something. He joined them on the ground, bend down on a knee, extra sheets of the mission briefing notes flapping in his hand.

"Officer Bernstein, Frost." And then Kenny froze. What was he supposed to say next? He struggled to find the following words for only a second, and felt a rush of relief as Officer Bernstein broke the awkward silence.

"You shouldn't be here," she said, without pausing to make eye contact with him. "This isn't a regular mission. It's a rescue mission."

"It's my job to help around wherever I can," Kenny replied a little defensively. "And ... after what happened here last night, I just wanted to make sure ..."

"We should have listened yesterday," Officer Bernstein interrupted. "And I'm sorry we didn't. But we won't be making that mistake again. And I don't want to put you in a situation like this. You should be at home where it's safe." It was as good as an apology Kenny was going to get for having his concerns be ignored last night and he knew it. She didn't seem to be in the most diplomatic mood so Kenny felt it best that he left her be for the moment, but not before handing Officer Frost a copy of the mission notes.

As he stood up and walked back to the door leading inside. Officer Redfield was still perched upon the crate, clip loading, emptying, and reloading his handgun. Officer Valentine continued smoking away at her cigarette. They each absent-mindedly accepted a copy of the notes from him without so much as looking at him.

And then Kenny felt something that surprised him - a short but intense stab of rage from the depths of his gut. Compared to the others who accompanied him on the RPD helipad that night, he was the walking definition of the term junior. A fifteen year old high school sophomore standing next to the most battle-hardened soldiers he'd ever had the honor of being in the presence of. And in the spirit of that superiority, they had blatantly ignored his warnings from the night prior. Officer Bernstein's comment was the closest he was going to get towards some form of recognition. Officer Redfield, who sat silently occupied with his firearm had barely looked at him tonight, despite after disregarding Kenny's warnings, even closing a door in his face to silence him.

And Kenny was conflicted. On one hand, what reason did they have to listen to their most junior of interns? On the other, he'd never felt so invisible in his life, especially regarding something so important. He looked at Officer Redfield, attempting to give him an expression that demanded information. A brief moment later, Redfield met his gaze with his own.

"Go home, kiddo."

This wasn't a situation for civilians, let alone minors.

There was something big going on that not even they had figured out yet.

They were scared themselves but didn't want to show it.

Any of those reasons would have satisfied Kenny. But once again, an order was all that was given to him. It was a toned as a friendly enough request. But he opened his mouth to respond as Redfield continued staring at him, squared jaw locked with tension, daring Kenny to challenge him.

"S...sorry, Officer Redfield," Kenny stammered. "Is there anything else I can do before I ..."

"Just be safe."

Kenny looked to Officer Valentine for something, anything to make him feel better. It came in the form of a warm, sympathetic smile.

"We'll be seeing you tomorrow morning when you come in for your shift, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am," Kenny mumbled sadly, making his way down the stairs to the ground level as STARS Alpha began climbing into the helicopter. Goodbyes and well wishes were gradually getting drowned out by the growing volume of the vehicles engines. The sound of blades whipping the air was the last thing Kenny heard as he reached the ground floor and entered the building, before closing the door shut firmly behind him.

* * *

 **1025 Wembley Road**  
 **Whitchley District**  
**Uptown Raccoon City**  
**8:30pm**

Cranky could hardly hold his jaw shut as he turned his head in every which direction, taking in his surroundings. In his twenty-five years on this planet, he had never imagined surroundings so lavish could even exist, let alone visit one himself. From the streets, houses - if they could be called that - looked more to him like rows and rows of miniature walled communities hiding behind brick facades topped with iron bars with trimmed ivy forming a visual barrier between them. With Mrs. Wade's arm wrapped around his elbow, he led the way as the iron gates opened before the pair, leading into acres of carefully tended gardens and fountains. The walkway leading up to the front doors of the home was lined with gentle lights embedded into the marble flooring, and all sorts of thick, exotic vegetation. Cranky took a deep breath, getting lost in the scent of flowers and money.

"You could put a little more effort into looking like you've seen all this before," Mrs. Wade noted, bring his attention back to earth. For a lady approaching middle age, Cranky had to admit to himself that she still looked fine with her poise, elegance, and grace, in her black dress. Dirty blonde curls were wrapped into a loose bun at the top of her head, held in place at the base by a ring of pearls.

"You said we were going to a house," Cranky replied, "not a castle." And he wouldn't have been far off. Though far from the ancient crumbling structures of medieval Europe, this home, with its multi-tiered towers standing proudly from the body of the building, the large open concept dining space, the expansive outdoor deck made from the finest redwood in the area, the outdoor kitchen, could easily be considered a castle.

Music from a live string quarter could be heard coming from the back of the home, bathing the entire property in a sense of serenity. Cranky took a glance over his shoulder and spotted Mrs. Wade's teenage daughter, Luanne, who was busy texting on her phone, oblivious to the grandeur that surrounded her. Cranky didn't get it.

The girl certainly looked like her mother, but in stark contrast seemed to lack appreciation for ... well, anything. She maintained a distance away from Cranky and her mother - far enough away to be mistaken for being part of another party, yet close enough for her to associate with them should she change her mind.

They reached the entrance foyer of the home as the giant oak doors were opened by a pair of sleek, young looking doormen. There must have been at least a dozens of people present here tonight, and yet there was enough space inside the Romanesque foyer to avoid feeling cramped. The men, like him, were dressed in their finest suits complete with bowties, carnations and all. Women were sported dresses of all sorts of cuts, materials and hues. Everywhere he looked, Cranky spotted something of value - jeweled cufflinks, diamond rings, golden earring, pearl necklaces, silk shawls, priceless pottery ... He fought off the overwhelming urge to reach out and pocket something, and though it had been a long time since he'd done it, he was sure his skills hadn't dulled. It wasn't until they passed a room that Cranky had initially assumed was a lounge, that Luanne made her announcement.

"Here's my stop, Mom," she said, not looking up from her phone, and took a detour into the room.

"Looks like your friends are here too, if their parents are," Mrs. Wade noted, glancing at a group of adults gathered around a punch bowl.

"Hold on a moment, Luanne," Cranky said, taking a step after her. She didn't pay him any attention, but it was her mother who tugged gently on her elbow.

"Don't bother," Mrs. Wade advised, "We can either let the evening continue in peace, or we can instigate the teenage scream-out of the summer. And after last night, I'd prefer the former."

Cranky gave a sigh in defeat but continued watching Luanne for a moment, out of curiosity, to see what exactly it she was up to. The girl walked met with a group of four other girls, led by a platinum blonde girl around the same age, easily with twice as much makeup as the rest of the put together. Nearby, at the bar, a group of teenage boys stood of varying heights. They each held a can of beer in their hands, talking loudly, hands gesturing animatedly in the air, threatening to accidentally spill onto the girls, though neither party seemed bothered.

One of the bigger boys adjusted his position and took a step to the right - and his large form moved to reveal Cranky's target standing among them. The reason he came into Raccoon City in the first place.

It took every ounce of strength in his body to fight the instinct to grab the target and haul-ass out of town. It would have been easy enough. Just a tap on the shoulder, charm them into a conversation, lead them away from the larger group, and a knock-out pressure point press on the neck.

But the informer's voice rang at the back of his head.

_"Target is suffering from an acute case of amnesia. We can't afford to trigger any sudden memories."_

Cranky's heart dropped into his stomach with disappointment when he heard Mrs. Wade's voice again, thankful for the distraction. "Come on, I'll introduce you to some of the major players in town."

He reluctantly followed behind her as she led him over to the group of adults gathered around the punch bowl, all of them in their late forties to early fifties. Cranky shifted uncomfortably in his suit. Being older than their kids, but yet much younger than the folk to which he was about to be introduced, there wasn't really an demographic he could easily relate to in this house so far.

"I believe you've already met Mr. Lawrence Wilberforce," Mrs. Wade said, gesturing towards the man Cranky had run into earlier today at the boutique. He wore the same disdainful expression on his face as when they'd first met, but was quicker to shake Cranky's hand this time around.

"This is my wife," Lawrence said with a painfully effortful smile, "Alicia."

"Alicia Wilberforce," the elegant woman said, reaching out a gloved hand. Cranky took it in his own and planted a soft kiss on the back of her palm. "I'd introduce you to our daughter Julie but Lord knows where she could be in this house."

Cranky almost smirked. Mrs. Alicia Wilberforce looked like an older version of the overly loud, blonde teenage girl he'd spotted only moments ago. The exception was that the older version, while equally blonde, sported oversized bouffant and a few squirts of too much perfume.

"Pleasure," he said, "Craig Crankurt."

"Oh," Alicia said, tilting her head to the side, "Strong sounding name. I see you are accompanying Barbara this evening?"

Cranky and Mrs. Wade looked at each other nervously.

"Yes," Mrs. Wade agreed, "He's a friend of mine, and I thought it'd be a good idea that he came along because ..."

"Yes, we heard," Alicia Wilberforce cooed, ruby lips pursed into an O. "Barbara, darling, you must be so traumatized from the experience. Perhaps it would have been a better idea for you to have stayed home tonight?"

"I thought it would have been better for me to get out and not be tortured by my own thoughts," Mrs. Wade replied.

"Alicia," Cranky interrupted strongly, "with all due respect, perhaps it would be prudent to reserve this topic for a more private audience."

"Yes, of course," Alicia agreed, a corner of her mouth tilting upwards in a smirk. "Lawrence, perhaps you could show Mr. Crankurt around, introduce him to the other gentlemen. I'd love to have a minute with Barbara, see how she's doing."

"Brilliant idea, my dear," Lawrence agreed. "If you'd come with me over to the lounge, Mr. Crankurt, there are some individuals I'm sure who would love to meet you."

As Mr. Wilberforce was leading Cranky away, he looked over his shoulder at Mrs. Wade who now stood alone with Alicia. She gave him a curt nod, urging him to go on. He couldn't shake the feeling that the two of them had something to discuss.

* * *

 **Lounge**  
**1025 Wembley Road**  
 **Whitchley District**  
**Uptown Raccoon City  
** **8:26pm**

Soft clicks from formal footwear clicking on the tiled floor, the old oak finish of the establishment and the wall to ceiling windows of the room and the vague hint of cigar smoke in the air created a facade of serenity and good times that barely concealed the tension that belied it. It hung over the heads of the teenage elite in Raccoon City Secondary School, now gathered around a circle of lounge seats and sofas. Not everyone was present, of course, but enough of the core to settle business at hand.

Kenny sat on the edge of the sofa, his hands folded nervously in front of his lap, hiding his clammy palms. His fingers toyed with the cufflinks on the wrist of his tuxedo. He subconsciously ran the bottom of his chin on the top rim of the bowtie fastened in at the base of his throat. He was flanked on one side, by his best friend Justin Thomas who sat appearing equally nervous as Kenny himself. On the other side sat the head of Uptown Raccoon City High boys group, Phil Barrett. Even seated, Phil was literally a head taller than his peers. Blond hair cropped close to his scalp, thick necked and broad shouldered, his physicality exuded dominance and was easily the male equivalent of Julie Wilberforce, who sat across the boys, facing them.

Julie smirked at Phil, with one leg crossed elegantly over the other, baring white, diamond tipped stilettos. Her blonde, curly locks draped over her shoulders like a shawl. Mirroring her posture to her left sat her groupies Leonie Brown and Sarah Lee Robertson, and to her right, Mary Perceval. Sarah Lee looked up from her phone to inform the group.

"Just got a text from Luanne," Sarah-Lee reported. "Says she's just passed the front gates." Kenny shot her a look, but she didn't appear to dare meet his gaze.

"Good," Julie said, returning her attention back to Phil. "I suppose we should wrap this up quickly then. Luanne's been through enough, and I don't think we'll need to expose her to this ... uncomfortable situation."

"This isn't about Luanne, and you know it," Phil replied, voice booming. "This is about you overstepping your boundaries."

"And who are you to put limits on me?" Julie spat back. "I'm sure I don't need to remind you of the influence my father has on our tight knit community."

"His reach is only as far as anyone's willingness to keep him employed," Phil reminded her. "And yours, even less so. I hear you've been using Kenny for your own personal agendas." To Phil's other side, his right hand man, Tyrone Hayes, folded his arms across his chest - an intimidation tactic.

All four girls rolled their eyes in response.

"Give Tyrone a rest," Julie insisted. "Dressed like one of the downtown scum kids with designer shades, walking around like he's got some kind of street cred? Please. The only woman that kid has the balls to lay his hands on is his little sister."

Tyrone clenched his fists and leaned forward aggressively at the burn.

"You're on thin ice, Wilberforce." Phil grabbed a bottle of beer sitting on the coffee table between them and took a swig from it. "Kenny might not share our childhood but his place amongst our ranks is obvious as the makeup on your face. I don't know what your agenda is, but you threaten him, you threaten me. So out with it. What is it you're really after?"

"It's an agenda but it's not exclusively mine," Julie said, all air of indifference aside. She sat now leaning forward, shoulders raised. "Jack Carpenter has managed to infiltrate our circle."

"Hartley's downtown dog?" Phil asked, brows rising in amusement. "I figured after all the beatings we gave him, he'd have learned to back off by now. Have you at least tried to talk to Lisa?"

"You don't think I have?" Julie defended. "She still thinks all this is over who has flashier clothes and more money than the other."

Phil cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Well, yes, to an extent it is," she clarified.

"I'm still not seeing your point."

"That's why you're a fool, Phil!" Julie scolded. "Lisa Hartley's parents work for Umbrella - the very corporation that runs this town. If she manages to work in any form of sympathy towards those social rejects, it'll transform this entire city. And you know what that means - we can kiss goodbye any chance of the prosperous future we've been otherwise guaranteed."

"Well that certainly sounds like the kind of talk I'd expect out of Lisa's best friend," Justin noted sarcastically.

"Please," Mary interrupted. "We all know the only one here who can be considered Lisa's 'friend' is that one." She tipped her chin at Kenny, who continued staring at the tips of his shoes.

"Which is exactly why I needed him," Julie continued. "I've tried talking to Lisa but she won't listen to me."

"No, I follow you," Phil agreed, nodding in thought. "We can't have someone of her social stature entertaining charity cases, or they'll come flooding into Uptown."

"Upsetting the balance," Julie finished. "And I for one, don't want to inherit a slum. Phil, you need to understand why I did what I did. It's for everyone's benefit, not just mine. And as far as Kenny is concerned, he's only got his pride to lose."

"What about my home, Julie?!" Kenny piped up angrily, but was interrupted as Phil stretched an arm across him to silence the younger boy, earning him a shrug from her in response.

"Collateral damage."

"That's enough, Wilberforce," Phil commanded. "I get where you're coming from but your efforts are misplaced. If you need one of my guys to help, you let me know. I get that Jack Carpenter and Lisa Hartley's relationship is a problem, and I'll do what I can to help. But if I find you using my guys without my permission, there will be hell to pay."

Julie stood from her seat, the sudden motion motivated by rage. "Don't you dare threaten me, Phil Barrett, or I swear to God I'll report how you treat the ladies of Raccoon to you mother. Both of them."

In response, the four boys stood from their seats as well.

"Just stating the facts, Wilber-whore," Phil growled through gritted teeth.

Julie's groupies then stood too, after his words, the two groups staring each other down like some kind of showdown was about to take place. And it was that moment when the voice of an outsider interrupted their conversation.

"Hey girls!"

It was Luanne Wade, who had finally arrived to the gathering that night. With her arrival, the two groups of teens disbanded, with Luanne joining the girls. Before Sarah-Lee could get too involved in the brief reunion however, Kenny reached out and tugged on her elbow.

"Hey, can I have a word with you?"

"This really isn't a good time, Kenny," she replied.

"When is it ever?" he asked with frustration. "You've been distant the past few days. And I need to figure out what's going on in your head. Enlighten me?"

Sarah-Lee sighed. "Five minutes, Kenny."

"More than enough time," he said, smiling happily. Sarah Lee allowed Kenny to take her hand in his and the pair walked over to the self service bar where he produced two glasses from behind the counter.

Sarah Lee blushed from behind dark bangs, and bit her lower lip. "Scotch, on the rocks."

"I like your style," Kenny winked, and grabbed the darkest scotch he could find on the display shelf behind him, pouring its contents into her glass until it filled up a third of it. He poured some for himself before capping the bottle and putting it back on the shelf. The pair held up their glasses. "I've gotta admit, I'm not entirely sure I can stomach ..."

Sarah Lee threw her head back along with the glass and downed the scotch in a single gulp. She scrunched her face and slammed the glass back down on the counter, and coughed once, giving Kenny a waft of boozy breath.

"That's not how you drink scotch, Sarah ..." Kenny brought his own glass to his lips and sipped from it. He, too, made a face. Unlike Sarah, his was from distaste.

"I'm sorry Julie used you the way she did," Sarah apologized on her friend's behalf. She put a delicate hand over Kenny's. "For what it's worth, I asked her not to follow through with her threat. Turns out she wasn't planning on it, anyway. She just wanted the correct reaction from you."

"That calculating bitch," Kenny spat under his breath. "Well she certainly got what she wanted."

"The Hartley situation's got her nervous," Sarah admitted. "Julie acts like she's doing this for everyone but the truth is the Wilberforce Estate is in serious trouble if they lose the support from the Hartley's." She pushed her glass towards Kenny, motioning for him to refill it. He obliged, but avoided pouring himself one this time. Sarah took the glass and gulped her second just as quickly as she did the first. She wiped the back of her hand across her lips.

"Uncle Lawrence certainly has enough money to maintain whatever twisted lifestyle he's built for his family here," Kenny insisted. "Why does he need the support from the Hartley's?"

"The Ecliptic Express went missing last night," she elaborated. "You've probably heard about it at work today."

"Understatement of the year," Kenny replied, "they were holding press conferences this morning. Media hounds are focusing more on the financial impact than the number of missing lives."

"Bingo," Sarah said, smiling. "The Ecliptic Express was the first of a new line of trains built by the Lonsdale Corporation. My dad's got a few thousand dollars invested in them, and he was all over the stocks this morning. One day and they've already lost a ton of money. If the Lonsdale's fall from grace, Lawrence and Alicia Wilberforce are poised to take the position as Raccoon's golden family. They never liked Dennis and Gloria Lonsdale anyway, or so Julie says. The problem is, without Umbrella's support, the Wilberforce's don't get the leg-up they need. So that's where Jonathan and Elizabeth Hartley come in."

"Why not just wait for the Londsdale's to fall beneath them?" Kenny asked.

"Come on, do you really think they'd settle for a default victory? Better to kick the Lonsdales when they're down. And Umbrella's endorsement is one hell of a kick."

Kenny dropped his face into his palms. "God, this is so convoluted. My head hurts."

"I know, right?" Sarah agreed. "Here, let me get you a drink that'll help." She got off her bar stool and joined Kenny on the other side of the counter. She began swiping bottle after bottle from the display case and setting them down on the counter. He gave her a quizzical look.

"What are you doing?"

"Rocky Mountain Bear Fucker," she replied, sounding excited. "It's nasty, but it should take set your headache right." Moments later, Sarah set in front of Kenny a glass filled to the brim with an amber looking drink that smelled as foul as it looked. She looked down excitedly at the glass and then back up at him, urging him with a slight nod of her chin to go ahead and down the vile concoction.

Kenny picked up the glass, careful to limit the spilling of the liquid, and prepared to pinch his nose. "If she finds out what you just told me, Julie's gonna have your head."

"I get the feeling I don't need to worry about you keeping my secrets, Kenny."

Kenny drank the "Rocky Mountain Bear Fucker", as Sarah had so eloquently put it. It stung his mouth, throat, and esophagus as he swallowed it. He crunched his face, and squeezed out tears from the corners of his eyes. He tried to cough but his mouth was locked closed. At the back of his mind, he thought he registered Sarah laughing at his reaction.

The moment of light hearted humor was short lived however. Through Kenny's recovering vision, he spotted Mr. Wilberforce approach them, accompanied by a stranger. As his vision sharpened, he recognized his companion as the man Kenny ran into at the Apple Inn bar last night - the large, fiery haired man. Sarah gasped at their approached as Kenny attempted to choke out a polite greeting. He never got the chance though, as Mr. Wilberforce was the first to speak.

"Are you two kids drinking?"

The teens recoiled in horror, both understanding where he was coming from, as one of the top lawyers in Raccoon City. And he had just caught them in the act of underage drinking.

"It was his idea!" Sarah cried, pointing an accusing finger at Kenny. "Please excuse me, I have to speak with my mother." With that, Sarah barged through between the two adults and ran off somewhere, leaving Kenny alone to fend for himself.

"There goes your back up," the stranger commented.

"Young Kenny," Mr. Wilberforce chided, "you're an upstanding honor student at school with an internship at the RPD. Are you sure you want to be engaging in these ... acts? I'll have you know that Chief Irons and Senior Officer Marvin Branagh are in attendance tonight."

"S...sorry, Uncle Lawrence," Kenny apologized, not knowing what else to say after having been caught red handed.

"Hmph, even under duress, you're as polite as ever."

The stranger raised a hand, silencing Mr. Wilberforce. "I'll take care of this," he offered. "Just make sure the RPD representatives are kept entertained. No need to kill a fly with a sledgehammer. I'm sure we can sweep this incident under the rug without much fuss."

Mr. Wilberforce pointed a finger at Kenny before leaving. "Don't let me catch you doing this again."

The pair waited for Mr. Wilberforce to leave the room before the stranger looked down at Kenny and smiled.

"Amateur."

* * *

 **Garden**  
**1025 Wembley Road**  
 **Whitchley District**  
 **Uptown Raccoon City**  
 **9:05pm**

It was at Kenny's request that he now sat on the grass somewhere in the garden, under a willow tree. The fiery-haired stranger had accompanied him, half supporting Kenny, half carrying him as they walked. The liquor Kenny had ingested was hitting him hard and fast, and he was had long since lost his balance. The stranger now stood leaning against the trunk of the tree, arms folded as he watched the teen. He held in his hand a glass of Irish whisky that Kenny didn't remember pouring for himself before leading him out here.

"Head between your knees," the stranger ordered, sipping the Irish whiskey from his glass.

Kenny did as he was told but felt his stomach churn, threatening to spill its contents on the grass.

"How does that feel?"

Kenny gagged, and felt a rush of warm, acidic liquid travel from the depths of his stomach, up this throat and onto the grass. And it wouldn't stop. Torrents of vomit spilled forth from his mouth, tasting like pure, hard alcohol. The taste caused his stomach to throw up more of its contents until he was dry heaving on the ground on all fours.

"Dang, all that wasted liquor." The stranger reached behind him and pulled out a bottle. "I've got more right here if you want it."

"No, please," Kenny begged. "No more."

"That's too bad," the stranger shrugged, "Cause I don't think I could finish this all by myself."

Kenny gave him a weak, but spiteful glare. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

A wide grin spread across the strangers face. "Thoroughly. So tell me, are you gonna drink like that again?"

"No, sir," Kenny replied weakly. When he had come to his bearings, he crawled over to the trunk of the tree land leaned against its base. He reached into the breast pocket of his tuxedo and pulled out a cigarette, and lit it, earning him a soft gasp from the stranger.

"What's your name?"

"Kenneth Feng," Kenny replied after taking his first drag. "You?"

"Just call me Cranky," the stranger said.

Kenny let out a tired chuckle. "Your parents name you that?"

"My little brother did," Cranky said, surprisingly stone faced. Kenny looked at him inquisitively, hoping for some kind of elaboration but Cranky changed the subject instead. "So how do you fit into this all this?" He waved his hand in the general direction of the mansion, brightly lit against the darkening summer sky.

"The kids," Kenny explained. "They're my friends from school. Tonight's soiree is held by a new family that just moved into town a month or so back. Their daughter, Milly, started summer school classes with us, but we haven't gotten a proper chance to meet her family yet." He took another drag of his cigarette. "I got invited tonight as Sarah's plus-one."

"Your parents weren't invited?" Cranky asked.

"They ..." Kenny paused, not knowing what to say next, though he had lied about his family a million times before. The alcohol was definitely getting to him. "They're busy."

"I see ..." Cranky mumbled, seemingly distracted. He gazed off in the distance, towards the house, deep in thought.

"I remember you from last night," Kenny continued. "You were at the Apple Inn - around the time when Mrs. Wade ..."

"Mrs. Wade is fine," Cranky interrupted. "Luckily I was there at the right time."

"Wait ..." Kenny paused. "You saw who did it?"

"I fought the guy off," Cranky replied, displaying his cut knuckles.

Kenny looked at the cuts. They were deep and looked they had been recently washed. The wounds showed the beginnings of scabs forming around their edges. He looked back up at Cranky. "So who was it?!"

"Listen ..." Cranky looked at Kenny like he wanted to say something, but couldn't bring himself to. "It doesn't matter. It's over now, and Mrs. Wade is safe. That's all you need to know."

"I didn't mean to pry," Kenny said apologetically. "It's just that ... with all the strange things going on in town lately, people are a little spooked, paranoid even. I guess I'm no exception."

"You'll have to forgive me," Cranky said, "but I just got into town yesterday. What kind of strange things are you talking about?"

"Attacks," Kenny clarified, "in the mountains. Missing people. Body parts floating in the rivers." Another drag from the cigarette. "And lately, we've been hearing these sounds from the forests. They sound like ... moans. Normally, Raccoon City is a paradise for the outdoor types in the summer, but this year's been different. You picked a bad time to come, Mr. Cranky."

"I didn't come here to hike," Cranky replied distantly.

"Then why else would you be here?" Kenny asked. "Visiting family?" Cranky opened his mouth to respond but no sound came out. The guy certainly acted like there was something he wanted to say but was only able to stop himself short from saying it.

"You could say that."

"Look," Kenny said, growing impatient, "you suck at hiding what's going on in your head. But you don't have to answer my questions if you don't want to. I'm just trying to make conversation. I better get back inside. The others are probably wondering where I am." He dusted off his knees and rose to a standing position when the world started spinning around him. He could feel himself toppling over, flaying his skinny arms outward to catch his balance. He felt Cranky's hands on his shoulders, pushing him back down into a sitting position.

"You're in no shape to be going anywhere, Kenny," Cranky advised. "I'll go get your friends to fetch you."

"Kenny?" the teen asked. "I may be wasted but I know I didn't tell you to call me that." He looked at Cranky with an accusatory glance.

Cranky shrugged. "I guess I just assumed. You told me your name is Kenneth, after all."

"No ..." Kenny countered, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. He raised an index finger at Cranky and wagged it. "You ..."

"... have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," Cranky interrupted. He took a few steps towards the house, calling out to Kenny behind him. "Stay here and I'll send someone after you."

Cranky froze in his tracks however, as a blood-curdling scream came from the house. The sound caused Kenny's blood to freeze in his veins, and the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. The scream was followed by another, and another, until it sounded as something had caused the guests to panic en masse.

"What the hell is going on?!" Kenny cried, using the tree trunk for support as he crawled upward into a standing position. "It sounds like ..."

"I said sit the fuck down!" Cranky ordered, before dashing off towards the house.


	6. Zombies?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The strange rumors whispered among Raccoon Citizens begin manifesting. The uptown soiree is interrupted by a man with a necrotic patch of flesh on his arm. Photo evidence of what appears to be an animated corpse appears at the RPD Precinct.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter occurs during Resident Evil 1.

**Friday, July 24th, 1998**   
**1025 Wembley Road**   
**Whitchley District, Uptown Raccoon City**   
**9:05pm**

Cranky dashed into the house as fast as his legs could carry him, despite the limited movement his suit placed upon him. They still felt a little shaky and unstable from the workout he had at the hotel gym earlier that evening but otherwise, they did what they needed to do. He covered the distance of the cobblestone walkway in the garden, leading up to the house, in just a few seconds. As soon as he got inside the house, he could hear commotion coming from the foyer.

The guests, all in their finest evening wear, stood with their backs to him. Ladies held gloved hands to cover their mouths. Men shielded their eyes from a view they did not want to see. A few of the guests were passed out on the ground, having seemingly fainted, lying in the laps of their significant others who fanned desperately at their faces.

But they were not the center of attention.

That honor belonged to a man kneeling at the center of the circle of people, a man who Cranky did not recognize. His right hand held tightly onto the wrist of his left. The sleeve of his dress shirt was rolled up to the elbow, baring his forearm, displaying an unsightly wound. A chunk of flesh was missing, black around the edges as if it had been infected by some kind of flesh-eating bacterial disease. The area surrounding the wound sported hideous boils, filled to the brim with puss that threatened to spill over the guests around him if popped. Cranky's eyes traced the trail of blood leading from his arm, to a patch of decaying flesh that lay on the tiled floor a foot or two away.

Cranky found himself holding a hand to his mouth, fighting the urge to fill the contents of his stomach at the grotesque image, yet his eyes could not look away. The man hunched over and sobbed into the floor.

"It's just an itch, I swear!" he cried, tears falling from his eyes. "It was supposed to be just a rash but ..." he gestured with his free hand to the gore that littered the ground, "... I don't know what's happening to me!"

"It looks like some form of advanced necrosis," another man said, stepping forth, kneeling beside the distraught guest's side. He looked to be of Middle Eastern or East Indian descent, clean cut with his hair slicked back, sporting a neatly groomed mustache. He grabbed the guest's arm and inspected the wound for a moment and nodded in confirmation. "Definitely seems like it, given the visuals and the odor."

"And who are you?" Mr. Wilberforce cried. Cranky noticed him as one of the closest bystanders, with his wife Alicia lying in his lap having fainted from the sight.

"My name is Dr. Hursch, and I work at Raccoon City General Hospital," he stated. "I've seen this before. We need to get this man to a hospital, ASAP."

"Why, what's wrong with him?" The horrified speaker was Mrs. Wade this time.

Dr. Hursch shook his head regrettably. "We're still trying to figure it out."

The guests shrank back, if only by a fraction. But there was one figure standing among them that Cranky noticed hadn't budged an inch. Police Chief Brian Irons. The perverted sicko continued staring at the wounded guest kneeling on the floor, lips pressed into a thin line, brows creased, like he wanted to say something but was barely able to keep his instincts in check. Cranky narrowed his eyes at the man with suspicion. The Chief of Police, a rapist, and now someone who potentially knew what was going with this man, yet refused to assist in anyway. And Kenny had, only moments ago, mentioned strange things going on in town. Cranky was definitely going to have to keep an eye on the Chief.

As Cranky watched him intently, the Chief shrank back slowly away from the crowd, not noticing Cranky's eyes on him. Something didn't seem right with Irons, for as soon as the fat man was certain nobody was paying attention to him, he spun on his heels and walked hastily away from the crowd, back towards the garden from which Cranky came.

He let Chief Irons get a few steps ahead of him before he followed suit, walking softly but speedily on the marble floor of the fine home. Cranky tailed the Chief until he stepped out onto the outdoor patio. Instead of following him outside, Cranky chose instead to remain hidden indoors, behind an open door, making sure to keep his frame hidden by the white drapes.

"What has your husband done?" the Chief asked quietly, seemingly to nobody. "What kind of stunt does he think pulling here? Do you have any idea the kind of PR mess I'm going to have to clean up because of his insolence?! Where is William? Bring him to me so I can wring the very life from his skinny throat!"

Cranky peeked his head around the curtain, trying to get a better view of whoever Chief Irons was talking to. He didn't see anyone out there earlier, so he was probably on the phone, which was why he couldn't see ...

"Fool," a second voice spoke condescendingly. This one was higher in pitch; female. She stepped into view - a tall and slender woman dressed in a white gown and a pearl necklace around her neck. Long blond hair parted down the middle reaching down to her chin. She stood, in contrast to the Chief's rotund, angry form, tall, cool and confident. "Going by the symptoms alone, that man was infected by a T-variant. Not the G."

The Chief waved his stubby hands angrily in front of her. "T, G, I or goddamned F, it doesn't matter!" He pointed a sausage-like finger at the woman. "You're supposed to keep your experiments on Arklay grounds, and not a foot beyond the property. What the hell is the virus doing showing up in town?"

"There's been an accident at the Arklay facility," the woman replied coolly. "The T-Virus falls beyond my jurisdiction; and William's."

"I agreed to sacrifice the lives of the STARS members as long as the situation was contained," the Chief retorted. "You're telling me that it isn't?

"And with whom did you agree to this?" she asked.

"Albert."

The woman let out a laugh. "Albert Wesker? You really are a fool, Brian. I'm starting to question whether or not you are worth continuing this conversation with. Your precious STARS members are as good as dead."

"How could you do this to me, Annette?" the Chief cried. "After all my years of service to Umbrella?"

"Let me get one thing straight, Brian," Annette hissed, "I am not responsible for whatever freak show came on display tonight, and neither is William. So don't you DARE go making a scapegoat of the Birkin name."

The Chief calmed down for a moment, and adjusted his tie, struggling to control his rage. Cranky gathered this woman must have been powerful to make him reconsider his actions with a simple threat. "Very well, then. If it wasn't you, it must have been the Hartley's."

"Desperation isn't a colour that suits you, Brian," Annette replied. "Jonathan and Elizabeth aren't stationed at the Arklay facility. You know this. If you want to take this up with someone, Wesker's your best bet. Whatever you do, don't go dragging the rest of us down with you."

It had been awhile, over a decade, since Cranky had dared listen in on a conversation. And though his instincts remained intact when he decided he'd heard enough, he was not used to how he'd grown since his pre-teen years. As he turned around to head in the opposite direction, his heel slammed against the base of the patio door, earning him a startled gasp from Annette Birkin and Brian Irons. It didn't matter - he was still able to walk quickly enough away before they could spot him - until he came face to face with Lawrence Wilberforce.

"Shit," Cranky began quietly, "those two people outside, I think they know what's going on with that poor soul in the foyer."

Mr. Wilberforce cocked a graying eyebrow. "Is that so, Mr. Crankurt?" He paused, and to Cranky's horror, called to the two individuals he'd been eavesdropping on seconds ago. "Brian, Annette! It appears Mr. Crankurt has overheard your private conversation and seems to think you'll be able to shed some light on what's going on with the sick guest in the foyer."

"I'm afraid that's giving us far too much credit," Annette Birkin said, stepping through the doors with Chief Irons inches behind her. She turned her attention to Mr. Wilberforce. "And how is Alicia?"

"I left her in the care of Gloria Lonsdale," Mr. Wilberforce replied. "The woman's as bright as a black hole, but she means no harm."

Cranky could have sworn he saw the Chief's moustache switch as soon as he'd set eyes upon him. "This man has certainly proved to be an inconvenience."

Cranky stepped forward to face the Chief, closing the distance between them with a single stride. "One count of attempted rape, and now conspiring to spread some kind of ..."

"You would be ill-advised to finish that sentence, Mr. Crankurt," Annette Birkin said, folding her arms.

He continued staring at the Chief. "And I'm the one who's the inconvenience?"

The conversation was killed before anyone else could respond however, as the sounds of shrill sirens pierced the air. Someone had apparently called for an ambulance for the sick party guest and it had arrived. As if concerned they would be seen together, the group quickly dispersed, leaving Cranky standing alone in the middle of the dining hall.

* * *

 

**Garden, 1025 Wembley Road**   
**Whitchley District, Uptown Raccoon City**   
**9:17pm**

Kenny had half walked, half crawled his way back towards the house in response to the panicked screams, despite Cranky's orders. His curiosity had gotten the better of him and he wanted to find out what was going on. But his drunken state had impeded his progress. He remembered, a few minutes ago, spotting Chief Irons speaking with Mrs. Birkin, the mother of one of the girls Sarah-Lee babysat on weekends to earn some extra cash. He recalled fondly the times he used to sneak into the Birkin family home to meet Sarah-Lee while she watched TV after tucking in the little girl, Sherry, for the night.

Mrs. Birkin and Chief Irons seemed to be well acquainted with each other; something Kenny had not expected but given the tight knit Uptown community, it didn't at all come as a surprise either; except that it looked like he was upset with her. Remembering that he was illegally drunk, Kenny slowed his pace so as to not be noticed by the squabbling duo.

That was when a dark figure came into view. Lights from the house highlighted her feminine form as she squatted to pick him up into a standing position. Kenny felt strands of her hair brush across his cheek. He forced his eyes to focus on the girls face and as his blurry vision slowly came into focus, recognized the girl instantly.

"Lisa?"

"You smell like a distillery," Lisa Hartley commented, supporting Kenny's skinny frame with hers. "Come on, let's get you inside."

"No," Kenny protested. "Chief can't see me like this. I'll get fired."

"There are bigger things going on in that house than you being drunk," Lisa said, in a-matter-of-fact tone. "Phil and the others are wondering where you are. How did you even get like this?"

"Sarah's fault," Kenny replied, leaning his head on Lisa's collarbone. "Said Julie's a manipulating bitch, then she gave me a drink."

"Isn't that the truth?" Lisa mumbled under her breath, dragging Kenny inside and back to the lounge where the other teens were congregated. Though he could only make out a few vague human forms, the first voice Kenny heard was loud and clear, belonging Phil Barrett.

"A chunk of the dudes arm just came off!" he said, waving his hands animatedly in the air. The other boys surrounding him suddenly quieted when they sensed Lisa's approach.

"Found one of your guys," Lisa reported, shouldering Kenny. "Is there anywhere I can set him down? He's not light."

"The couch is fine," Phil said, motioning towards the unoccupied sofa where they sat minutes ago confronting Julie Wilberforce and her groupies. "Had a bit to drink, did he?"

"I'm fine," Kenny insisted, as Lisa released his mass into the sofa. She exhaled with the effort and tucked some loose strands of hair behind her ear. He watched as Phil Barrett gently placed a hand on Lisa's slender shoulder. She looked up at him, unsure of what to expect next from Raccoon's football star. He gave her a gentle smile.

"Thanks for bringing Kenny back," he said earnestly. "I just found out about the shit Julie's been pulling with him." He shook his head. "Not cool."

Lisa looked up at Phil, brows furrowed in concern. "What are you talking about?" she asked. "Kenny's been acting different lately, but I thought it was just him being difficult with Jack and all." She motioned at Phil and the other boys surrounding him. "Not unlike how you guys have been treating him."

From behind her, Justin rested his chin on Lisa's shoulder with a mock sad expression on his face. "I hear you're taking in charity cases," he taunted. "My parents didn't get me that new pair of jeans I wanted. Maybe you can help my poor little soul?"

Lisa reacted by smacking him off her. "Cut it out!"

"That's enough, Justin," Kenny protested from the couch. He had his head supported by the backing of the couch. He rolled it slightly to look Lisa in the eye. "Julie made me threaten Jack, to get him to stay away from you."

"Wilberforce," Justin piped up, toward Kenny this time. "I don't know why you're associating with her. I was floored yesterday when you told me to leave you two alone for a second. What the hell was up with that? I thought you hated her!"

"Shit, Justin, you know I do," Kenny replied weakly.

"Then what's with the exclusive Kenny / Julie tag-team all of a sudden, man?"

"We know how you got into Raccoon City," Phil said calmly, "but you pay your taxes and contribute as well as anyone." Phil turned to Justin. "On paper, it sounds kinda shady, I'll admit. But we've got more important problems to take care of. Like Jack and the rest of his downtown goons."

Lisa looked like she wanted to protest for a moment but was cut off by Tyrone.

"I still don't get how Kenny's situation involves Wilber-whore in any way."

"The fact that she knows," Kenny replied. "She saw it as leverage to get what she wanted against Jack. So she convinced me, using her knowledge of my situation, to threaten him."

"That bitch," Justin whispered in shock. "So that's what she talked to you about yesterday when she harassed us? Wow, Kenny. I ... God, I don't know what to say. How did she find out?"

"Her dad's a pretty successful lawyer," Phil offered, "though I admit I didn't think she'd ever sink that low. She'll flaunt her power however she can with or without motivation from others. But in getting Kenny to do her dirty work for her, she must be pretty desperate to keep Lisa on her side."

"I was never on Julie's side to begin with," Lisa protested in disgust. "As far as I'm concerned, she's using me just as much as she's using anybody here."

"So you're finally ditching Julie?" Tyrone questioned her, smirking. "So you've finally developed half a brain."

"Except it appears she's using Kenny to stop that," Lisa said, ignoring his insult.

"I swear if she wasn't a girl, I'd have her lying in a ditch somewhere," Justin said, punching a fist into an open palm. "Or feed her to the cannibal murderers." He chuckled at his own joke, and although Kenny could sense some sincerity in it, Kenny shot him an angry look.

"The cannibal murders are nothing to be joking about, man. I keep reading about the cases at work. While we're all comfy in our cozy uptown neighbourhoods, there's some serious shit happening downtown. People are dying, or going missing daily. Crazy bums are coming into the precinct telling us about mysterious moans and the stink of death getting worse every day. And you know it's true. The moans. We've all heard it."

An uncomfortable silence fell among the group of teens. Nobody wanted to agree with Kenny, for fear of being labeled crazy. But nobody could deny it either.

"The police won't allow that kind of thing to happen up here," Tyrone offered, though Kenny wasn't sure if anyone felt reassured. "They'll protect us if they feel we're at risk. We pay their goddamned checks for crying out loud!"

"I don't think it's worth getting worked up over something we can't control," Lisa said with finality. "I need to get going home. I take it Kenny will be fine in your capable hands?"

"No," Kenny said, struggling to get to his feet. "Not alone. I can't in good conscience let you walk around at this time of the night with all the reports of attacks coming in."

"What are you gonna do?" she asked Kenny, rubbing his arm gently. "Vomit over my attackers?"

"All right, Hartley," Phil reluctantly agreed, nodding to Tyrone, "he'll drive you home."

"I'm sorry for all this drama with Julie," Lisa said, "none of this is fair. I'm not letting Julie escalate this any further. I promise you that." She didn't wait for a reaction from any of the boys before turning around and making her way out of the room with Tyrone, and out of the house, with finality.

* * *

 

**Front Lawn, 1025 Wembley Road**   
**Whitchley District, Uptown Raccoon City**   
**9:22pm**

Whipping the cell phone out from the inside pocket of his jacket, Cranky auto-dialed the number of his contact. Perspiration had collected in innumerable droplets on his forehead and on the small of his back. The sick guest, who was now being loaded onto the ambulance, and the conversation he'd unfortunately overhead between Chief Brian Irons and Annette Birkin had caused him extreme unease. The late summer heat wasn't making things any easier for that matter. Flashes of red and blue light from the ambulance punctuated the atmosphere, as the guest was loaded into the rear, scratching at his arm like a mad man, insisting he was fine amidst the cries of concerns from fellow soiree attendees.

Cranky brought the phone to his ear, and although it must have rang less than five times, the time he spent waiting for a response felt like an eternity. Finally his informant answered grumpily from the other end of the line.

"This had better be good," the informant grumbled, "where you able to find out anything tonight?"

"Too much," Cranky spat angrily, not at his informant, but at the situation in general. "This town is more fucked up than I'd anticipated. I thought the missing trains, the focus on plunging stocks and missing hikers were bad enough. Now they're talking about weird goddamned viruses spreading through town. And this one guy scratched off a chunk of his own arm tonight!"

"Whoa, hold on a second, Crankurt. You're spouting nonsense."

"That's because nonsense is exactly what this shit-hole of a town is!" Cranky nearly screamed into the phone. Realizing at that moment at which the volume he spoke, he toned his volume down a few notches. "Listen, I say we engage the target and get the hell out of this town as soon as possible. I don't want either of us to stay here a second longer than we have to!"

"But the target is suffering ..."

"Amnesia confirmed, for Christ sake!" Cranky interrupted. "And to be blunt, after what I've discovered today, I'm all out of shits to give."

"You engaged?!"

"Damn straight I did," Cranky confirmed, "but don't worry, I revealed nothing. Still that doesn't change my suggested plan of action."

"Is everything all right, Mr. Crankurt?"

As soon as he had heard the interrupting voice, Cranky hit the hang-up button of his cell phone without a word of goodbye, before turning around to see the newcomer. It had turned out to be Alicia Wilberforce, accompanied by another woman, who he assumed to be Gloria Londsdale, if the information he overheard was anything to go by.

"I'm sorry, yes, Alicia," he said, pocketing the cell phone. "It's just that the recent spectacle had me at somewhat of an unease."

"Yes, I ..." Mrs. Wilberforce began, "... had quite the reaction myself. But the medics seem to have everything under control now. I suggest you come back inside."

Cranky narrowed his eyes at her, trying to decide whether it was a friendly suggestion or an order.

Noticing his misinterpretation, Mrs. Wilberforce elaborated. "There was a thunderstorm forecasted for tonight, and Raccoon City is a mountain community - high altitudes. Lightning strikes, Mr. Crankurt. And it looks like it's starting to roll in from the Arklay Mountains."

She pointed a manicured finger towards a range of mountains towards the north, where lightning flashes occasionally outlined the large, bulbous shape of a looming storm cloud. As if on cue, a low, rumbling groan of thunder filled the air. Eyes still concentrated on the mountain range, Cranky wondered what it would have sounded like if he had been on that mountain range, then shuddered at the concept. He turned around to follow Mrs. Wilberforce back into the house.

"How is Mrs. Wade, doing?" Cranky asked her, wondering how their conversation went since he departed them earlier in the evening.

"She's putting a great deal of effort into convincing us that she's fine," Mrs. Wilberforce responded. "I don't believe a word of it though. I tried getting more information out of Barbara, like what the perpetrator looked like. She wouldn't tell me a thing."

Mrs. Wilberforce's admission hit Cranky like an eighteen wheeler. The man responsible for her ordeal was amongst them tonight; the elite of Raccoon City. As the Chief of Police, Cranky understood that Brian Irons was a powerful man. But how powerful could he have been intimidate Mrs. Wade to hide the truth from one of her own friends? Sure, it was clear that the term "friends" carried a loose definition in Uptown Raccoon but still...

She led him inside back to the lounge where the guests were gathered, with drinks in their hands. Clearly, alcohol was needed to help them get over the grotesque sight they'd just been subjected to. Cranky noticed that even the teenagers were present, among which included Kenny, who he had come across under the influence as a minor earlier tonight. The boy seemed to be composed well now though. Vomiting all over the well manicured lawn must have helped him.

In the center of the gathering stood a man, who if not for his position in the mass of people, Cranky would have passed him off as another well dressed Uptown citizen. The middle-aged man stood tall among the guests, brown hair slicked back against his skull, revealing crystal blue eyes demanding attention from the others in attendance.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he spoke, loud voice booming. He tapped a teaspoon against a glass filled with some kind of bourbon. The clinking of the silverware against the glass rang through the air, silencing the concerned mumbles. "Thank you all so much for being in attendance tonight, and welcoming me, my wife Teresa, and our daughter Milly to Raccoon City. For those whom I've yet to meet, my name is Clinton Truman, and it is me and wife who are hosting tonight's soiree in our new home. I must apologize for the earlier incident but I assure everyone that thanks to the assistance of Dr. Hursch, Dr. George Hamilton, Chief Irons and Senior Officer Marvin Branagh, the incident is contained and our friend is receiving the medical attention he needs."

Mr. Truman motioned to the string quartet standing behind him, who began playing a lilting, cheerful composition in response to his gesture. The guests looked at each other in confusion for a moment, though as the seconds ticked by, it was clear the music was beginning to slowly change the mood of the room. Mr. Truman continued.

"Let the celebration continue," he called to the crowd, as the tensions began to ease. "Enjoy the festivities, and the refreshments at the bar."

The guests dispersed, though Cranky remained where he stood, unable to believe they could have carried about their business like nothing had ever happened. Perhaps it was some kind of a sheltered coping mechanism where they were able to convince themselves that if they were surrounded by nice things, they could easily forget the inconvenience of everyday reality. Glancing to his left, however, Cranky was still surprised to see Mrs. Wilberforce at his side. She did, however, maintain a suspicious glare at him, one that he read as out of concern more than anything else.

"Are you feeling all right, Mr. Crankurt?" she asked. As she tilted her head with the inquiry, her diamond earrings swung slightly with the momentum, sparkling even in the dim light of the lounge.

Cranky shook his head subtly, staring off into the distance. "I'm just ..." Trying to understand the weird culture of this rural town? Figure out the fine details of the local populace? Complete his objective as soon as possible without having to worry about the political bullshit unfolding before his eyes?

"I think I just need something strong," he replied shortly and strode over to the bar. But Mrs. Wilberforce was persistent. She followed him, shawl flowing behind her aged, but graceful form.

"And I think you're itching to say something," she retorted. "You've already had too much to drink, and you're looking pale, as if you've seen a ghost. Then I catch you running outside with the impending storm."

"You're paying an awful lot of attention to me," Cranky said angrily. He helped himself to a glass of whisky and finished it in a single gulp. He slammed the glass back down onto the table a swept a forearm across his lips.

"The second I laid eyes on you, I knew you lacked class," she replied through clenched jaws. "Typical of Barbara to bring someone of her ilk to our community. Filth begets filth. The Trumans, with their ties to the government, have a lot to offer Raccoon City. And I will not stand idly by and let you taint this lovely evening."

Cranky turned his head slowly towards Alicia Wilberforce, eyes narrowed angrily. "Teenagers boozing it up under your watchful eye. And then some guy walks in and scratches a chunk of his arm off. I hear the Chief of Police - who nearly raped your 'friend' last night - speaking in hushed tones to some blonde broad about a leaked virus into town, and your goddamned husband jumps to his defense. And you think I'M the problem?!"

The flow of accusations caused Mrs. Wilberforce's eyes to widen in shock. She opened her mouth to speak but before she could say anything, Cranky continued his tirade.

"I didn't come here for any of this, Alicia." He threw an arm in the air of indifference. "I'm just here doing Barbara a favor."

Mrs. Wilberforce ended the conversation by spinning around angrily on her heels and walked rapidly away, towards her husband waiting in the distance. Her shoes tapped against the floor, fading into the distance, toward her husband Lawrence, who only glared angrily back at Cranky with a wordless threat. He was a powerful man, one who Cranky had hoped would help validate the conversation Cranky had overheard with the Chief and his mysterious blonde compatriot, Annette. But Lawrence quickly revealed his allegiance, and it was not with Cranky.

He couldn't believe his luck; or lack thereof. Barely two days into his stay in Raccoon City and through no fault of his own, he'd already pissed off two of the city's most powerful citizens. Cranky began to suspect not only the corruption in this town, but realize the seemingly bottomless depth that it reached. Definitely not the kind of place he'd wish upon his most hated enemy, let alone a loved one. Something strange was going on in this city and Cranky realized he had two choices; procure the target and high tail it out of here, or walk the dark dangerous road that his instincts told him lay ahead.

Lawrence Wilberforce was the one to break the tense glare shared between the two men as he draped an arm over the shoulder of his wife, and the pair turned their backs to Cranky. Their presence faded as the distance between them grew, but the silent threat hung heavy at the back of his mind. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously and their shrinking forms wondering what Lawrence could do to him after overhearing what he did. Cranky could feel the muscles in his body subconsciously tense with anticipating, entering fight mode. But he fought the instinct - this was hardly the time and place to cause a scene, especially if he wanted to stay in Raccoon City for longer than two days.

* * *

**Saturday, July 25th, 1998**   
**Main Hall**   
**Raccoon City Police Precinct**   
**8:14am**

Kenny plopped into the seat at his workstation behind the statue of a woman bearing water. The elegant sculpture obscured his view from the twin teal doors that served as the main entrance to the precinct. His heart raced, pumping blood through his veins from his brief conversation with Jack down in the holding cells; residual adrenaline from the tense discussion. His mind replayed the conversation in his head over and over again, wondering if he was able to get Jack to at least sympathize with what was going on beyond the high school social sphere; that Raccoon City was in the middle of a bizarre mystery that had got even the city's finest worried.

Glancing quickly to his right, Kenny noticed that his hand had subconsciously reached for a photograph. The oils on his fingertips had grasped onto the lower edges of the photo and he pulled it closer, eyeing the grotesque image it captured.

He'd seen a million movies featuring creatures that looked exactly like this, on the nights he and Sarah Lee would spend together in secrecy from their peers at school. They would be cuddled on the couch, a single wool blanket draped over both their forms while the zombies on screen bit into their victims, ripping them apart with their teeth while they were still alive. But it was fiction. Make-believe. Turning it over, the found hand written scribbles on the back.

Found this on the body of one of the latest victims. It's an exclusive photo, probably taken before the victim died. Could this be one of the cannibal killers? – Alyssa Ashcroft.

Kenny had heard of Alyssa Ashcroft all right, but not for the reasons she would have wanted. Rumors of monsters in the forest were rampant now, but it was Ben Bertolucci from the Raccoon Daily who had first reported on the missing hikers back in early Spring. The Times, however, were locally known as a borderline tabloid paper and had initially blamed the disappearances on extraterrestrial abductions due to the presence of heavily secured military bases a few hundred miles from Raccoon City. And the allegations were spearheaded by none other than the woman who had written the note. She personified, to Kenny at least, everything wrong with contemporary journalism. When you don't have a story, make one up.

"She works for a tabloid," Kenny said aloud. He scoffed at his own gullibility; for a few minutes there, he'd fallen for her tactics. The photograph was a fake, fabricated by the Raccoon Times. A wave of relief washed upon him in that epiphany. He should have been angry; at her for lying to him just to get a story out, and at himself for believing it. But in that moment, he didn't care. Raccoon was not in danger of some supernatural force. "You're an idiot," he told himself.

Kenny tossed the photograph onto a disheveled stack of papers at the corner of his workstation, and was about to get back to work, when he noticed a strange residue on the fingers that held it; dark red, and crusty. He'd had nosebleeds in the past, and this residue was identical to that of dried blood. Curious, he reached over to the photograph for a second time in about just as many minutes and flipped it over, examining the back. And sure enough, there were dried blood droplets, a little smaller than a penny each, dotted on the back of the material. Stained streaks of where his fingers had disrupted the dried blood marks indicated where his fingertips made contact with the photo.

Just as quickly as the wave of relief had washed over him, it suddenly disappeared, replaced with doubt. The note accompanying it had mentioned it obtained it off a dead body of the latest victim, except that Kenny had no idea how recently the latest victim had been claimed. If the blood was any indication, the kill must have been fresh ...

Kenny gasped and stood up suddenly, taking a step away from his desk, as if to distance himself from the photograph. He was looking at evidence from a murder scene. But for some bizarre reason, it hadn't been filed away in the evidence room in accordance with protocol. He glanced towards the pile of papers that he had discovered the photograph lying in - old receipts, outdated copies of reports and monthly expenditures that had already been filed ages ago - material to be shredded, in other words. How in the world did evidence end up in a pile of paperwork intended to be shredded?

It was a picture of a man who at first glance, seemed to be a bum, a typical sight in downtown. But the expression on his face was … absent. His pupils had lost most of their color, he was drooling and judging by the stance, looked as if he were shuffling towards the photographer. The color of his skin was a sickly gray, his hair was a mop of dead frizz, and a trail of something from the corner of his mouth, that Kenny could only guess was blood? Flipping the article over, Kenny discovered a positive copy of the photograph, higher in resolution. The colors were and it was clear that his skin really was gray. But the original print revealed more details like the boils on the skin, the blood on his lips, making him look like a clown.

"Like what you see, kid?"

The voice snapped Kenny out of his thoughts, realizing only then that he had been staring at the papers for ... he didn't know how long. He looked up at the speaker, a blonde woman with blonde hair cropped to her chin, standing on the other side of the desk clad from head to toe in a maroon suit. Her nametag gave her away as media personnel, except that she wasn't making him eat a microphone. Kenny took a second look at the nametag, and glanced down again at the photograph he held in his hands. They matched.

"I know you, Ms. Ashcroft," Kenny said. "From the Raccoon Times."

The woman smiled. "Well, whaddaya know? Someone who knows a name in the local media that isn't Ben Bertolucci. I guess there is hope for the future of this city after all."

He opted, however, to place his biases aside when addressing Alyssa Ashcroft, choosing to draw attention to the article he held in his hands.

"Swiped it from a body this morning," the journalist continued bragging, smug smile across her otherwise pretty features. "Not exactly the most law-abiding act, but I needed the story. But it ended up in its rightful place at the precinct after all, am I right?"

"M...Ma'am," Kenny stuttered nervously, "there are law in place against tampering with police evidence."

Alyssa Ashcroft shrugged at his suggestion. "Well, there are a hell of a lot of people who want to know what's going on in town, and rumors are running rampant. Think hard about blowing the whistle on the little act of social justice I've done here. And let me advise you, kid, that taking away the right to know from the people is NOT a move you want to make in these uncertain times." She nodded at the photograph. "Now take a look at that and tell me that doesn't pique your interest even a little."

"This photo caught my attention," Kenny admitted, showing her the photograph. A smile beamed on Alyssa's face as she recognized her work. "I've only ever seen these kinds of things in movies but this looks real."

"It's pretty convincing, isn't it?" she agreed. "But interesting as it is, there's more." Alyssa tipped her chin at the file folder attached to the newspaper article. "I doubt you've had time to look through all that, but the high level is that I found this on a corpse. The victim had been murdered."

"Murdered?" Kenny repeated.

"There's someone out there who doesn't want this photograph getting out to the public," Alyssa elaborated.

"With all the rumors around town, why wouldn't anyone want something to blame false or not?" Kenny asked.

"Look at the photo again and tell me why. What does that look like to you? Because that's what people are going to think is behind all of these missing hikers."

"That ..." Kenny faltered, unable to believe what he was about to say, "that looks like a zombie."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cranky witnesses a cold blooded murder, yet the police seem disinterested. The STARS return from their mission in the Arklay Mountains as the RPD learns of the events that unfolded. The precincts Officers aren't sure what to make the stories. Kenny mysteriously finds case-sensitive material to be shredded. He couldn't have placed them there by mistake, could he?

**Saturday, July 25** **th** **, 1998**  
Hotel Suite, Apple Inn  
Downtown Raccoon City  
7:23 am

It had already been just under an hour by the time Cranky opened his eyes from slumber. It wasn't the alarm clock, or a sharp noise that awoke him, but his thoughts. And he knew they wouldn't allow him to get back to sleep. It was for the better, he supposed. He was always an early bird anyway. Memories from last night's soiree in Uptown's Whitchley's district ran through his head; the people he met, the things they said.

And it made him question every breath he took. If what Chief Irons said last night was true, that a virus had leaked into town, was it airborne? Was it behind the rotting arm that a soiree guest was trying to conceal? How did he contract it? Why hadn't mention of this been in any of his research into the city? Right – Irons and Mrs. Birkin had been speaking in hushed tones. Their words weren't meant for him or any other attendee to hear; which meant that the general populace knew nothing about it.

Cranky stood at the window, looking out onto the city streets. They were nearly empty, this early in the morning, save for the occasional car or pedestrian. He then spotted a man glaring up at him from the sidewalk across the street. He was neatly groomed, hair cropped short. Tall, lanky form dressed in a sharp business suit. His face however looked up at Cranky with an expression of profound terror. Bespectacled eyes were wide, hands clenched into tight fists over and over again at his sides. He mouthed silently to Cranky. "Help."

Cranky took a step back away from the window. For a moment, he was unsure of what to do. His instincts told him to stay where he was. He couldn't afford to involve himself in local business anymore than he already had. But his morality screamed at him to go check on the poor soul outside. The deciding factor was when the man outside fell to his knees, hitting the concrete hard. His shoulders bobbed up and down as he sobbed uncontrollably.

"Screw this," Cranky whispered under his breath, and dashed for the door.

He took the stairwell; it would've taken faster to run down the stairs than wait for the elevator. He exited the stairwell and entered the lobby, jogging past reception and out onto the street. The cool morning air felt refreshing on his skin, drying up the layer of condensation Cranky only just realized had collected on his face and arms. He glanced left and right briefly before running across the street to the man, who remained on his knees sobbing. Cranky reached him and squatted down to meet him at eye-level, placing a supporting hand on his shoulder.

"Hey buddy, what's wrong?"

Up close, he could see the man's suit was tattered at the cuffs and lapels. Dirt was smeared on his chest, face, elbows and knees. He looked dehydrated, exhausted, and starved. He was running on fumes, fueled by fear and desperation.

"They're after me," the man whispered in horror. "They're going to kill me. Please, I need somewhere to hide."

"Slow down," Cranky urged. "Who's after you? Why do they want you dead?"

"We thought they sent the Umbrella Special Service to save us, but they were there to terminate us!" he continued sobbing. "We were never supposed to get out … no witnesses …" He stopped talking but Cranky had the feeling he wasn't finished. A gasped breath later, "But I escaped the mansion, spent the last week in the Arklay Forest trying to make my way back here. We have to warn everyone!"

"Warn everyone about what?!" Cranky cried.

"Umbrella is –"

**BANG!**

Cranky squeezed his eyes shut as he felt hot droplets splash on his face. He opened his eyes and saw that the nameless civilian had been shot in the head. The bullet had entered from one side of his skull and exited on the other, spilling blood and brain matter onto the road, and all over Cranky's face and chest. The man's lifeless body fell to the pavement at Cranky's feet while he stood up, mouth gawking, chest heaving in shock and horror. He took a few steps back slowly and panic set in. He dashed straight for the entrance to the hotel and burst through the doors, startling the receptionist, who was just coming out from the back room. She opened her mouth to scream upon seeing him, but he was quick to speak first, stammering madly.

"S-somebody's been shot!" he shouted. "We gotta call the cops!"

"B-but you," the receptionist stuttered, pointing a shaky finger at him.

"It's not mine," he assured her. "Just call the cops!"

The receptionist sprung into action as Cranky ran back towards the doors, unsure of his motivation. Shock, perhaps? Denial? But what he saw instead brought on a second wave of disbelief. His psyche couldn't handle it anymore and Cranky broke. He leaned forward against the double doors by his forearms.

"No …" Fresh tears spilled from his eyes, mixing with the blood on his face. In the distance, he could hear the receptionist speaking rapidly on the phone.

"We've had a shooting in front of the Apple Inn. Please send someone immediately. One witness, yes. No, it's not me. But he's with me."

"No …" Cranky repeated, feeling sick to his stomach with disbelief.

A large pool of blood stained the pavement where the mysterious man had fallen. But his body was gone.

And the police never came.

* * *

**Saturday, July 25th, 1998**  
**Holding Cells**  
**Raccoon City Police Precinct  
** **8:55am**

It was as if the chaos the slammed the police department from yesterday afternoon had evolved into a lingering, ever-present sense of dread in the musky old precinct the following afternoon. Last night's storm had dissipated by now, coating the city in thin sheet of water, quickly evaporating into the dry mountain air, thanks in part to the bright sun overhead. The humidity soared that morning, and had now lessened to a more bearable state. Still however, Officer Marvin Branagh, seated behind his desk, wiped a hand across his forehead, which up to that point, had sported a coat of beaded sweat.

Officer Rita Wilcox sat in a chair opposite him, holding a white handkerchief to her mouth. Her blue eyes gazed blankly at the tiles beneath her feet, looking like she was about to vomit into it. Beside her, with his arm draped supportively over her shoulder was Officer David McGraw. He was more composed, but equally silent. It was this scene which Kenny interrupted with a soft knock on the door. McGraw looked to Branagh, who nodded his head in approval.

"Come in."

Kenny opened the door slowly and poked his head through. The young intern carried in his hands a collection of file folders, the corners of paper they contained poking through the opening. He entered the office slowly, as if any sudden movement would cause those in the room to snap. Kenny closed the door behind him gently. As soon as it had softly clicked into place into the doorframe, he presented the folders to Officer Branagh.

"Last night's reports, sir," he said, placing the stack neatly on his desk. "They've been time stamped, and signed by Bernice. I've ordered them chronologically, from most recent ..."

"Have a seat, Kenny," Officer Branagh interrupted, motioning to a vacant chair beside Rita.

Kenny didn't have to say anything to know what was going on in the room before he arrived. The three Officers sat unmoving, looking at him from the corners of their eyes as he entered. The tension was so thick, he could have cut it with a knife. It was news and it was going to be bad. He collected himself and accepted the chair, swallowing a lump in his throat. The tension in the air had not gone by unnoticed, even from a lowly intern like himself.

"Sir," Kenny began, "I understand the importance of keeping information confidential. So I apologize if I am interrupting."

"What we have to tell you," Rita began, "affects us as a team. And you are a part of this team. Besides, aren't you here a little early?"

"The STARS," Kenny replied, ignoring her inquiry. "Are they all right?"

Rita swallowed hard, preparing to deliver Kenny the news. Officer McGraw placed a hand upon hers, trying to tell her she didn't have to say it if she wasn't feeling up to it. But she shrugged off his gesture. But Kenny knew she didn't have to say anything, really. Her reaction told him everything he needed to know. It was bad.

"Kenny," she began, "when you're working in this field, you've got to accept that death is part of the job. That's what we do. We put our lives on the line for the innocent on a regular basis."

"How many of them?" he asked, knowing exactly what she was getting at.

"Apart from Rebecca, Bravo didn't make it," Rita continued. "Alpha lost Captain Wesker and Officer Frost. Chris, Jill, Barry, and Brad brought Rebecca back with them."

"Vickers didn't sleep a wink," Officer Branagh added. "He circled the area all night looking for the rest of the team."

Seven deaths on Raccoon's most elite team. The information had a hard time sinking in. Kenny's understanding of the situation was too limited, too narrow to grasp what it meant. He hadn't reacted physically to the news. As the few seconds of silence drew on, Officer McGraw spoke.

"Kenny?"

"A ... are they all right?" he asked in a whisper, unsure of what else to say, "Officer Redfield and the others, I mean."

Rita scratched the back of her head. "Physically speaking, yes. They're all at home resting. But their accounts of the events that transpired ..." She faltered. "I don't know what happened up in the Arklay mountains, but they seem to have gone, for lack of a better word, crazy."

The word hit Kenny hard. Crazy. It wasn't something a regular police officer to afford to be. Their jobs relied on logical, spur of the moment reactions, let alone the STARS, the cream of the crop. But for them to completely betray this logic in a single night ...

"Listen," Rita advised, "the S.T.A.R.S. haven't released an official statement. And based on their initial reports, the officers are nervous just being around them. For the time being, I recommend staying clear of the situation. But as a member of this team, we all feel that it is your right to be in the know. None of this is easy for anyone involved."

"I was talking to the chief today," Officer Branagh continued, "and he suggested you take the day off, Kenny. The atmosphere around here is awkward at best so we think it'd be best if you just stayed away for the day while we sort things out on this end. We've arranged for Officer Ryman to give you a lift home."

"Yes sir," Kenny said, standing from his seat. "I'll head over to my work station and get packed up."

Officer Branagh nodded in agreement and watched Kenny head for the door and exit the office, closing it quietly behind him. "Stay clear of the media in the main hall."

On his way back to his desk, Kenny occasionally passed some of the precinct's officers. Whatever had gripped Rita, and Officers McGraw and Branagh, clearly had the others too. They spoke in hushed volumes and stopped talking all together as he passed them. Some walked hurriedly by, their bodies stiff, barely taking a breath, as if the air itself was poison. The usual buzz of activity was ever present, but the camaraderie was notably absent. It didn't seem like anyone wanted to be in the building that afternoon, and were counting down the minutes until their shift was over.

The atmosphere changed however, as Kenny entered the main hall from the east wing. It was as if yesterday's events were replaying themselves. More media personnel cluttered the main hall, aiming lights and microphones at any passerby, throwing a barrage of questions at any poor soul to get mixed up in their path. He watched as Officer Lonsdale got cornered by a group of them.

"Is it true that the reserve branch of the team embarked on a rescue mission last night? Can you update the public on the mission status?"

"What has the team found in the mountains? Can we finally put an end to the rumors of monsters in the forest?"

"What does the fate of the Ecliptic Express mean for the future line of such models, and the plummeting stocks of the Lonsdale Corporation?"

He knew it was their job to ask these kinds of questions, but Kenny felt a pang of anger on Officer Lonsdale's behalf the moment the questions started getting personal. He seemed to take it in stride however, by simply shielding himself from their glaring camera flashes and mumbling, "I cannot provide any answers for your questions at this time." Kenny on the other hand, modest in stature, dressed in civilian clothes and clearly younger than most of the precinct's staff, looked unassuming enough and was able to dodge most of the reporters and cameramen as he made his way back to his desk.

The events over the past 48 hours were piling on and beginning to overwhelm him. The initial events were confusing at first, with the missing train and the escaped convict. But following that, Alpha's return from the Bravo mission rescue, the stories they were telling, the mysterious photograph of what appeared to be a zombie - too much was happening at the same time for all of it to be a coincidence.

Something was happening in Raccoon City - his instincts were screaming at him to do something. But what? And who would believe him?

* * *

**Saturday, July 25th, 1998**  
**Interrogation Room, East Wing**  
**Raccoon City Police Precinct  
** **10:38am**

Cranky stared angrily at the Officer asking him questions that he'd already answered innumerable times before since his ordeal began earlier in the morning. A young blonde guy, California surfer styled locks told him that the Officer would be more comfortable on a beach with a surfboard, high as a kite than as a junior officer in a police force in some restricted mountain community. He glanced at the Officer's name tag.

"Listen, Officer McGraw," Cranky nearly hissed, "I'm telling you that the blood you found on me belongs to the guy I saw killed before my eyes. You've taken samples and you'll find that what I'm saying is the truth."

The blond, youthful officer sat himself down comfortably across the table from Cranky and looked at him curiously, pausing before saying anything. His body language told Cranky that if he believed anything, it wasn't without some suspicion.

"We'll be keeping an eye out for any missing persons report over the next 48 hours," Officer McGraw assured him, "and cross checking those with the details of the individual you described. "But I'll let you in on a little secret." The corner of his mouth lifted slightly upward into half a shit-eating grin. "Dead people don't get up and walk away."

Cranky buried his fingertips into his scalp, tufts of red hair protruding from between his fingers. "I know what I'm saying sounds crazy," he admitted through gritted teeth. "But I am not crazy. I know what I saw."

For a moment, it looked as if Officer McGraw was going to sympathize with him. He pulled out a chair opposite Cranky and sat down in front of the confused man, mirroring his posture, hands clasped on the table in front of him.

"Crazy," Officer McGraw said, almost absent mindedly. He twiddled his thumbs for a second before speaking again. "You wouldn't be the first person in here spouting stories like that in the last few weeks."

Cranky's eyes widened with hope. He looked at the Officer, mouth agape, struggling to find the words. "Y...you mean, you believe me?"

Officer McGraw shrugged, revealing to Cranky the youthful energy and innocence the cop likely possessed in his younger years. "You could say that," he admitted. "But here's where it gets a little weirder. We tested the blood sample taken off your clothes."

"And?!" Cranky demanded, clenching his fists as he leaned forward, closer to the officer.

"And forensics have determined that the blood belongs to you, Mr. Crankurt."

Cranky didn't know whether or not the Officer was pulling his leg. All logic told him so but the expression the cop wore bolstered the doubt at the back of his mind. His brows were furrowed, lips pressed into a thin, straight line below his nose. When he figured it wasn't intended as a ruse, but a legitimate response - however full of shit - Cranky nearly lost it.

"That's what they told you?!" he cried, barely able to contain himself. Officer McGraw held a hand out, hoping the gesture would remind Cranky of where he was, and what would happen to him if he lost control of his emotions. Thankfully, it did not come to that; this time.

"That is indeed what was clearly stated in their report," Officer McGraw explained slowly, trying to calm him. "Now before you go off losing it, I need you to listen to me."

A tense silence followed as he paused, giving Cranky a chance to respond. The large red-headed man remained silent, and nodded slowly, indicating for the cop to continue talking.

"Like I said earlier, you're not the first to come in here spouting off strange stories. There are two things that concern me here; firstly, you're the first out-of-towner whose accounts parallel those of the locals. Second, that the nature of yours indicates a ... more disturbing direction these tales are taking."

"There are stories that predate mine."

"That's right," Officer McGraw said, "and they started out as missing hikers, followed by rumors of a cannibalistic cult living in the Arklay Mountains. And now you're talking about dead bodies disappearing into thin air. Where is it you are from, Mr. Crankurt?"

"I just came into town two days ago," Cranky replied, "from the UK."

The cop tilted his head in curiosity. "Britain?"

"I live there," Cranky clarified, "but originally from right here in the United States - hence the accent, or lack thereof."

" And what is your business in Raccoon City?"

"Just here to see the sights," Cranky said simply. "Heard that the trails in these parts are the best in the country. Had to check them out for myself."

He was just about to follow Officer McGraw on his tangent, but quickly recognized that the good cop was trying to turn the conversation into a more casual manner so that he would let his guard down, volunteering more information to the inquisitive policeman.

Swinging the conversation back to a direction that was more in line with his interest, Cranky repeated simply, "You said the blood tests ran on my shirt reported that the blood was mine."

"That's correct," Officer McGraw conceded.

"It was a hell of a lot of blood," Cranky countered.

"Your wounds would seem to suggest a likely source," the policeman said, nodding towards the scabbing on his knuckles and cut lip.

"These wounds are days old and scabbing over," he splayed his hands down on the table. " The attack was barely a few hours ago and the blood was fresh. I'm telling you, it wasn't mine!"

"Mr. Crankurt," Officer McGraw began, drawing air between his teeth trying to contain his frustration, but was cut off.

"You know as well as I do," Cranky hissed, "the blood isn't mine. And if you're telling me it's not, then something incredibly fucking fishy is going on behind those closed doors of yours."

"That's enough!" Officer McGraw said with finality, shutting down the conversation. He glared angrily at Cranky, who only stared back with defiance. It didn't look like they were going to leave the room in agreement, but Officer McGraw was tired of entertaining the detainee. He spoke again, calmer and quieter this time, hoping to ease the tension.

"I've taken note of your report. There is a secondary statement we still need to take, from the receptionist at the Apple Inn. Until then, we have no further questions and you're free to go."

* * *

**Main Hall, Raccoon Police Precinct  
** **1:46pm**

Kenny arrived back at his work station and began organizing the stacks of loose-leaf papers into their respective piles. Rita and the others told him that Officer Ryman would be there to fetch him home, but Kenny knew from experience that the man would be late, so he decided to take the extra time go clean things up for the next week. As he was reviewing the piles of papers to ensure nothing was miscategorized, he noticed again the photograph that he'd discussed with the Raccoon Times reporter, Alyssa Ashcroft, in the "to be shredded" pile.

"This needs to be in the evidence room," he told himself quietly. "How did it even get out here, anyway?" Kenny separated the photograph from the pile and using it, created a new one. "For filing."

Normally, he would have finished skimming through the pile already, but catching one mistake destroyed his confidence in the job that he'd done, so he continued flipping through the "to be shredded" pile. But it didn't take him long to find a second document, closer to the bottom of the pile. And seeing it made his gut sink. His lips moved along with the word as he read.

_Blood work produced results of an individual not in police records. Please escalate to state-level authorities to determine if a match exists. Report #19980725-0043, File ID #3944 - Crankurt, Craig-Doale._

Kenny flipped to the attached sheet and saw the beaten-up face of a man staring back at him from the upper left corner; a man that he'd recognized at the soiree the night before, the one who'd watched over him while he was drunk off his rocker. It concerned him that the man had mentioned he'd just got into town, and already had a file with the Raccoon Police.

"Damn it," he said, cursing himself under his breath after tossing the document into the filing pile. "Two mistakes in one pile. I'm getting sloppy. They would've fired me for this."

He finished going through the remaining documents in the shredding pile and after concluding that all errors had been counted for, he scooped up the two misplaced documents in his hand and stood up from his desk. Officer Ryman probably wouldn't be here for another couple of minutes anyway, so he chose to chance the trip to the West Wing evidence room to get the misplaced documents filed away.

It didn't once occur to Kenny, however, that he hadn't made any mistakes that morning in sorting the documents. He was good at his job, and a perfectionist - and the entire precinct knew it. Nor did he notice, the shadowy figure of Chief Irons glaring angrily at him from the second story mezzanine, as he made his way towards the evidence room in the west wing.


	8. Chapter 8: Falling STARS

**Saturday, July 25th, 1998**   
**Evidence Room, West Wing**   
**Raccoon City Police Precinct**   
**2:49pm**

3200, 3550, 3600 … Kenny's fingers flipped deftly through the case number folders, finding the correct folder that was supposed to hold the blood report results he'd found mistakenly placed in the pile for shredded documents. He could still not believe he'd nearly shredded official police evidence; an honest mistake at best, an obstruction of justice at worst. He didn't dare think of what could have happened to him in a worst case scenario.

"It doesn't matter," he told himself mentally. "You caught your mistake, and now you're fixing it. No use worrying yourself to death over what could have been." The sentiment seemed to have calmed him some, and he continued flipping through the tabs until he came across the 3900's. Prying the sheets apart with his fingers, he began inserting the report into its respective file folders when the lights to the evidence room suddenly went out. The evidence room was dimly lit overhead with fluorescent bulbs, windowless walls lined on every side with rows upon rows of cabinets and lockers, and as they were snuffed out, sheer darkness enveloped the room in a split second.

"Damn it," Kenny cursed under his breath for the hundredth time that day. The bulbs had been buzzing so loudly over the last few weeks that he knew it was only a matter of time before they gave out. What he hadn't expected however, was for them to die simultaneously. He made a mental note to mention this to Gus, the head janitor of the precinct, while waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Perhaps this was a good opportunity to suggest trying out the energy efficient bulbs he'd read about, similar to the ones the city planned on implementing for the public Christmas light decorations later that year.

After a few moments, when Kenny realized that it really was going to be this pitch black in the room, he decided to head back for the doors. Perhaps if he left them open, the amount of light they'd let in would provide enough visibility for him to at least make his way out of the room and return with a flashlight. He walked slowly, extending one foot carefully in front of the other with his arms splayed outward, fumbling for anything he could touch to get some sense of spatial awareness. Reaching the end of the row of cabinets, he turned right and immediately spotted a solid line of light, spilling in from between the bottom of the door and the floor.

Before he could pick up his pace however, Kenny felt something wrap tightly around his torso, pinning his arms to his sides. He let out a yelp in surprise, and tasted the bitter flavor of a leather glove, stifling his cry. Whatever he tried to say barely made it past the glove in the form of incomprehensive muffles. He struggled to free his arms but whoever held him from behind was strong as an ox.

"Give me the reports," a voice whispered quietly into his right ear. Kenny could feel the coarse hairs of a mustache tickling his lobe, "if you want to live to see another day."

Kenny nodded. It was all he could do, besides bend his wrist holding the papers, to indicate that he was surrendering the documents. He felt the attacker rip them away from his grasp. Instantly, he was unhanded, turned around, and shoved hard against a filing cabinet lining the room perimeter. His eyebrow caught hard enough against the handle for it to tear skin, though the adrenaline was pumping so fast through his nervous system that Kenny barely felt it. He only felt the cold barrel of a handgun pressed firmly against the back of his skull, and heard the soft click of the safety going off.

"Close your eyes and count to ten," the assailant ordered, still whispering. "Open them before ten and these lights will be out for you. Permanently. Now start counting."

"… one …"

"Louder."

"Two!"

Kenny was shaking so hard by the time he reached ten, that was he was still too afraid to open his eyes. He had continued counting, he would have hit eighteen by the time he dared to peek. By then, the lights were back on in the room. He looked around slowly; the filing cabinet where he'd been barely a minute or two ago was still open. Everything was as it was before, as if nothing had just happened. The only difference was that the documents he'd been about to file had been stolen from him at gunpoint.

 

* * *

 

 

**Chief Iron's Office**   
**Raccoon City Police Precinct**   
**3:22pm**

Chief Irons eyed the large form of a bald man seated at the coffee table with a mixture of suspicion and fear. He was clad entirely in a black business suit, with only the white of the collared shirt indicating any form to the outfit. The man's eyes were hidden behind a pair of sleek sunglasses, similar in fashion to Albert Wesker, despite being indoors. At first glance, Irons would have assumed it was Wesker, except that despicable Captain of the STARS Alpha team had perished not even a day prior.

The man had entered the office after a brief, abrasive knock on the door, and made his way slowly over to the chesterfield, as if allowing Irons to get a true sense of his imposing presence. Neither of them spoke for the initial few tense moments, as if waiting for each other to say the first word. In the end, it was the man.

"You work quickly, Irons," he said quietly in a voice with a deep, pronounced bass. "I'd be impressed, if it wasn't for the fact that any younger, and you would have been taking candy from a baby."

"You'd be foolish to underestimate Kenneth Feng," Irons said from behind his desk. "He may be a mere high school student, but his attention to detail is comparable to that of a STARS candidate. He's a solid intern, but given our … arrangement," Irons motioned between himself and the suited man, "we can't have him paying too much attention. So I did what I had to do."

"The reports that the intern was about to file into police records …"

"The blood test reports from that insufferable tourist, Craig Crankurt," Irons explained. "The man was a witness to the dispatch of an escaped scientist from the Spencer Mansion. We're not sure how he was able to flee from the Umbrella Security Service. But Crankurt had the scientist's brains all over his shirt and filed a police report. Forensics conducted a test on the samples and I had to … falsify the results."

"And you thought leaving them for the shredder was secure enough way of disposing sensitive documents that could attract unwanted attention to Umbrella?" The big suited man was more amused than he was angry.

"You comment on my performance when your men can't even kill a scientist without leaving any evidence?"

"Touché, Irons."

"It won't happen again," Irons promised, "I'll be keeping an eye on young Kenny. Make sure he doesn't go snooping too far."

 

* * *

 

 

**Apple Inn Hotel Gym**   
**Downtown Raccoon City**   
**3:30pm**

Cranky's fists rained down a flurry of punches with the speed and efficiency of a boxer. He barely registered the wounds on his knuckles splitting open again beneath the gloves, blinded by his anger, something that he'd struggled with his whole life. Exercise was the answer for him, as it provided an outlet to absorb everything he had to release. He just kept punching until his arms, fists, and lungs couldn't function anymore, until he was too exhausted to move as he lay in a pool of his own sweat on the gym floor. Exercise had quite literally saved his life when it was introduced to him as a teenager by a retired boxing coach. But it had come too late for him to save the people he loved. Raccoon City was the one chance he would get at redemption.

He took a minute or two to gather his breath, and stood up slowly, groaning the whole way as condensation continued to roll down the sides of his face and drop from the tip of his nose and chin. Cranky tore his gloves off and winced from his split knuckles, now without the adrenaline to shield him from the pain. He did his best to ignore the burning on his knuckles by flexing his fingers and lumbered toward the change room, where he dreaded the feeling of water on his open wounds.

A suspiciously quick movement caught his eye down the corridor leading to the gym entrance. Cranky turned to look but saw nobody. Someone had definitely been standing there a moment ago – someone that didn't want to be seen. The hair on his arms and the back of his neck rose. He stood rooted to the spot, stopped breathing, and listened for a few seconds … it was quieter than death in the room. And that's when Cranky realized the speakers that were previously blaring a song about two girls arguing over a man on loop, was now silent. It was odd, considering nobody physically came inside to shut them off –

The lights suddenly flickered for a moment before dying, bathing the workout area in darkness. The only lighting came from the lobby, diffused by the textured glass on the gym door entrance. Whoever that person was Cranky noticed, they definitely didn't want to be seen. He dropped to the ground and tucked into a roll towards the wall, behind a stack of mats and boxes. He kept his eyes locked on the entrance while allowing his vision to get accustomed to the darkness. He waited patiently for the dim lighting from the lobby to be broken by the silhouette of the intruder.

His patience was rewarded with the silhouette of a man in form fitting clothing the bunched slightly at the joints – handgun in hand with an attached silencer. That was all Cranky could make out from the vague shapes in the darkness. The intruder planned to shoot Cranky in the dark, which meant that he must have had some kind of night-vision aid.

"You were supposed to walk toward the entrance," the man spoke with a deep voice, "to me. I didn't expect to come in here after you." Cranky shook head, offended that whoever wanted him dead, would send a rookie to do the dirty work. The attacker intended for the darkened room to disorientate his target, yet, speaking gave the target the information he needed to counter attack, should it choose. And Cranky chose to.

As silently as possible without breathing, he bee-lined it for the assailant, and kicked in the general area of where he thought the attacker's hand might be holding the gun. Success came in the form of metal hitting the ground, clattering as it slid away into the darkness. He followed up the kick with a blind uppercut, which connected with the attacker's armpit. Left hook, smashed into his back. With every punch, Cranky was getting more and more information on the positioning of his opponent in relation to him, and the size.

The attacker grunted with each impact, absorbing the painful hits but was not felled. Cranky took a step back to put a little distance between them while he thought of what to do next. He didn't have to think at all, it turned out, as his heel came into contact with the base of the dumbbell rack.

Weights … Cranky's hands fumbled around for the top of the rack, for the lighter weights. There was no time to test their weight – he just wrapped his fingers around the grips of the first two dumbbells he could find, and took them off the rack, sinking into a fighting stance. Ten pounders; heavy enough to add power behind his punches, light enough to not impede his movement.

The attacker was already upon him when Cranky retaliated with an uppercut to the chin, fist still gripping the dumbbell. The impact caught the attacker dead on. His body travelled up, and backwards in a graceful arch, and back into the concealing darkness. Though Cranky could have sworn he felt the attacker's jaw crack on impact beneath his knuckles, he didn't intend on waiting to find out how effective the weights behind his punches were. He leapt into the direction of his opponent, taking educated guesses on where he could be in the barely visible light, and jabbing in that direction. When he failed to strike anything, he realized with horror that he was now in a vulnerable position. His opponent had been quiet, listening carefully for Cranky's breathing while he swung his fists blindly in the dark.

His realization was proven as he felt a leg smash the back of his knees, losing his balance and landing on the floor. His hands hit the ground hard, forcing him to release his grip on the dumbbells. Before his opponent could follow up with a heavy stomp, Cranky rolled to the left and onto his feet, fists up, desperately trying to silence his breathing.

That's when the lights flickered back on and the two fighters got their first good look at each other, awkwardly facing different directions. They immediately reposition themselves, looking into each others'. Cranky gauged the intruder – a little shorter than him, no more than half a decade older. Slight bags under the man's eyes suggested mental scars of hardship, of battle. And his split lip and fractured jaw wasn't helping either. Nothing remarkable otherwise; to help him blend in most likely. He was clad in what looked like an all black motorcycle jacket, and black pants, which contributed greatly to Cranky's difficulty tracking him in the darkness.

The man's eyes scanned the ground quickly for the gun but before he could spot it, they both heard the voice of a pair of hotel employees approaching the entrance.

"As if the boiler room problems haven't been enough, now somebody goes off and trips over the power cable."

"Ugh, I know," said a second voice, "we're gonna hear about it in the guest comment cards."

Whatever the assailant had planned for Cranky was supposed to be carried out discreetly apparently, as the attacker chose to flee in lieu of the now bright room, and the approaching potential witnesses. One final glance at Cranky and he bee-lined it for the emergency exit at the opposite corner of the room.

"Anybody in here?" one of the hotel employees called out upon entering the room, just as the emergency exit door closed. The employee came into full view, which Cranky could see now was one of the bellhops. "We apologize for the lack of power. We experienced some complications with the wiring, and just wanted to check to make sure nobody injured themselves in the darkness.

Cranky smirked.

"No injuries here, thank you."

 

* * *

 

 

**Main Hall**   
**Raccoon City Police Precinct**   
**3:43pm**

Kenny stumbled back to his desk from the evidence room, shock clouding his mind, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He knew what just happened to him but his brain couldn't grasp that he had literally been attacked, his life threatened, in a police station. And the item of interest was misfiled evidence …

"Evidence," Kenny said aloud, an idea forming in his head. Someone knew that he was in possession of the blood test results and the alleged photograph of a zombie – and he had only stumbled across them minutes before. Someone was …

"You all packed up and ready to go?" It was the voice of Officer Kevin Ryman, who Kenny had only remembered then that Rita had arranged for him to take him home in light of the STARS Arklay Forest aftermath.

"Officer Ryman," Kenny said, turning around to face the Officer.

"Jesus, Kenny," he said noticing the look on Kenny's face, "Is everything all right? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I think someone is watching me."

Officer Ryman hung his head in an attempt to hide the resulting smirk, and casually took a seat on the table top.

"No, I'm serious," Kenny insisted. "I was just attacked over a couple of documents I was trying to file."

Officer Ryman's smile faded suddenly, into an expression of concern. "Attacked? Here, at the precinct?" Kenny nodded. "When? By who?"

"Just now," Kenny said, struggling to keep up with his questions, "a-and I didn't see the attacker. The lights in the evidence room went out. I've been asking Gus to have them replaced but I guess he hasn't gotten around to it yet."

"Did you have any valuables on you? Was anything stolen?" It seemed Officer Ryman had entered questioning mode, unlike how he would approach a mugging victim. Residual adrenaline pumping through Kenny's veins gave him trouble from explaining clearly.

"No, I only had a couple of misfiled documents that I was trying to archive properly in the evidence room. Those were the only things that were taken."

"What kind of information did the documents contain?"

"I didn't read them in any depth, but one was a blood test report, and the other was a photo of … what looked like a walking corpse."

Officer Ryman paused, mouth pressed into a tight frown as he absorbed the information. Though he didn't want to admit it, Kenny knew he was reaching the same conclusion; that there must have been some truth to the rumors spreading around the city, or even worse, there was someone at the precinct trying to hide the truth.

"Why would anyone within the police force try to tamper with documents?" Kenny asked, doing his best to appear naïve. But he wanted answers and this was the only way he knew how to get it. "And why over a blood test report and a photograph? And how deep does the corruption in the RPD-"

"Stop," Officer Ryman ordered. "You're a good kid, Kenny. And you're smart. But you're asking questions an intern shouldn't be asking, and that can get you in trouble; the kind of trouble way over your pay grade. And you're not even getting paid."

"Sir, if there's something going on in Raccoon City and we know something, we owe it to the public to give them that information."

"What information?" Officer Ryman snapped. "We only have breadcrumbs and suspicions that something is aloof. We don't even know what!"

"We know that something is going on within the RPD," Kenny offered. "If a civilian did this, it would be an obstruction of justice, criminal, and punishable by law. The fact that someone within our ranks is doing this …"

Without warning, Officer Ryman aggressively seized Kenny by the elbow and began walking hurriedly toward the main entrance as fast as he could, with the intern in tow, protesting and resisting. Kenny must have hit a nerve. Officer Ryman half-escorted, half-dragged him outside, past the main gates and into an awaiting police cruiser parked across the street. It wasn't until the two of them were in the privacy of the cruiser when Officer Ryman spoke angrily.

"First off," he said sternly, "when I tell you something, it's not for shits and giggles."

"But-"

"Secondly, if there really is someone conducting illegal activity from within the RPD, we don't know who or how many of them there are. Hell, you don't even know it's safe to be saying this shit to me."

"I'm just-"

"Thirdly, you've already been attacked once. For your own safety, keep your head and your voice down, Kenny."

A brief silence followed, filled with the sound of the car engine starting, and pulling away from the precinct. Kenny sighed and turned away from Officer Ryman, opting instead to look out the window, giving his head a solemn shake.

"This isn't right," he said aloud, almost to himself. "We're supposed to be making the streets a safer, not more dangerous. What kind of damage could a blood test and a photograph do, anyway?"

"Evidence," Officer Ryman replied, though it was clear the question was rhetorical. "Whatever information those documents contained, someone didn't want it on record."

The drive continued for the next few blocks toward Brentford District with neither of them speaking. Only the brief radio blips and dispatchers taking could be heard. Kenny's head was leaned against the headrest, tilted right, watching the blur of cars and buildings whizz by. If he had been told twenty-four hours ago that within a day, he would find himself questioning the moral foundation of the RPD, Kenny wouldn't have believed it. The good-hearted officers he worked amongst, laying their lives on the line everyday to ensure the safety of everyone in the community, let alone the STARS … he couldn't fathom any one of them willingly endanger anyone. Fire Department aside, they were the city's finest. Or at least, they were supposed to be. But then again, the RPD was a huge force …

"Kenny?" Officer Ryman's voice said, interrupting him from his thoughts.

"Yes, sir?"

"Where did you say you found the documents before they were taken from you?"

"I found them while I was doing a final check of the documents that were to be …" he looked into Officer Ryman's eyes with horror, "… shredded."

 

* * *

 

 

**Hotel Suite, Apple Inn**   
**Downtown Raccoon City**   
**4:12pm**

Cranky paced and forth by the bed, cell phone held up to his ear waiting for an answer on the other end. He'd drawn the curtains, bathing the room in semi-darkness. His clothes had been stuffed into his duffel bag in a rush packing job. Someone tipped Cranky's location to those that wanted him dead … but who? There was no shortage of unfriendly faces in the uptown community. The murder in broad daylight this morning, the disappearing body, the police disinterest, and finally the attack on him at the hotel gym. The events were connected, he was sure of it. He had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and had seen something he wasn't supposed to. And whoever was responsible was trying to cover their tracks …

"Talk to me, Crankurt," his informant answered on the other end. Cranky sat on the bed, the tension leaving his legs from the pacing. He rubbed his jaw with a hand before speaking.

"Yeah … sorry, I've been out of touch," he began. "Things have been happening, strange things. I … I can't explain. But I need your help. I met a man this morning, hysterical with fear. He kept telling me someone was after him. Looked like he'd been dragged through the mud, twigs and leaves in his hair."

"You sure it wasn't some hobo on a drug-high?"

"He was shot in the head, right in front of me," Cranky replied bluntly. "So I ran back to the hotel to call 911 – and get this – the body disappeared, like the man never existed in the first place. I questioned by own sanity for a bit, but made the police report anyway because the guy's blood was still on my shirt. Except that the cops claimed the blood on my shirt was from an altercation from the night before."

"You got into a fight?!"

"Slime-ball Police Chief – look, it doesn't matter! I'm witness to an assassination gone awry and they just sent someone after me. And I think whoever is responsible has enough power for the Raccoon City Police Department to turn a blind eye. That's what I need your help gathering information on."

"Damn it, Crankurt. Someone just attacked you and you're trying to find more information on what's going on? Whatever happened to procuring the target and getting out of there like you originally planned?"

"If what I suspect is true, then the target could be in some serious danger." Cranky was back on his feet, heading to the chair on which his duffel bag rested.

The informant sighed. "I don't know much about the mid-west but I'll see what I can dig up. If they're powerful enough to manipulate the police department, then it theoretically wouldn't be very hard to find something on them."

"Before he was shot," Cranky said, recalling the incident, "the man said 'Umbrella.'" He scooped up the duffel bag with a single arm and shouldered it, and began walking for the door.

"…Umbrella?" the informant asked curiously, "as in the pharmaceutical manufacturer?"

"I know, I find it hard to imagine the creators of Safsprin also have an army of trained killers at their disposal. Anyway, I've gotta relocate. It's not safe here anymore. I'll call you later." He snapped the phone shut and pocketed it, walking out of the suite for the final time.

Cranky looked down the hallway in both directions, scanning the area for any suspicious looking characters. He spotted an unattended cleaning cart in front of a neighboring suite with its doors open. In the opposite direction, he recognized Richard and Elsie Walters; the elderly couple he met in the lobby two days ago when he'd just arrived in town. They saw him too, and waved excitedly – leftover energy from one of their afternoon hikes, he supposed. Cranky forced his stone hard, cold expression into a friendly smile as they passed. They didn't need to get in the way of whoever was after him.

He took the very same flight of stairs down as he did earlier that morning, running to the doomed man's aid. Only this time, even with his heightened sense of alertness, he moved at a much more casual pace, considering the events that had played out that day. It hadn't even occurred to him report the attack to the authorities – it would have been his third trip to the precinct in just as many days, and they hadn't proven to be very proficient at keeping the peace from what he could tell.

Cranky reached the lobby an exited the stairwell, heading straight for the stained glass doors to exit. He hadn't intended on it, but upon passing the reception area, stopped dead in his tracks and made a detour to the front desk, where a receptionist, a different one from earlier that morning, stood ready to assist him.

"Excuse me," Cranky said, approaching the lady, "your colleague who was working behind the counter this morning, is she here? She and I were witnesses to an incident this morning I'd like to speak with - "

"Laurie," the receptionist confirmed, brows wrinkling with concern. "The police came to bring her down to the station this morning, to take her statement. We offered to give her the day off but she insisted that she wanted ... needed ... to come back to work. But it's been hours since we've heard from her, and she's not answering her phone."

"Could she still be at the precinct?"

"The RPD confirmed that Laurie left the station but before 11:30 this morning. We're within a 15 minute walk to the precinct. Nobody wants to say anything but we're starting to think something must have happened to her. If we don't hear from her within the next 9 hours, we're filing a missing person report."

 

* * *

 

 

**J's Bar**   
**Downtown Raccoon City**   
**4:18pm**

At Officer Ryman's suggestion, the police cruiser pulled up to the old bar, and one of Raccoon's finest – watering hole of choice for Raccoon's boys in blue. The establishment itself was a three story building right beside an apartment block, conveniently open late for night owls and alcoholics. Kenny unbuckled his seat and opened the door, stepping shakily out of the car, the adrenaline from Officer Ryman's erratic driving wearing off.

"Man, it sure feels good to get out of that dreary police station," Officer Ryman said, stretching his arms overhead, using his hip to close the cruiser door. "After all the drama this morning I sure as hell could use a pint or two. You can just stick with soda, and keep your head down."

The entrance was a modest one consisting of a single red, swinging door with little square glass windows set into them. Beside the door, two panoramic windows gave a full view of across the street. Officer Ryman stepped toward the door with Kenny just a few steps behind and pushed it open, triggering a bell hanging just over the doorway, announcing the arrival of new patrons. The pair made their way to the bar, with Kenny looking awkwardly around, trying too hard to blend in. The scent of old wood, alcohol and cigarette smoke lingered in the air.

"Yo, bartender, how about some service?" Officer Ryman asked jokingly as he planted himself in a seat by the counter.

"Only if you promise to clean up after yourself this time," the bartender called back in jest. He took the chamois slung over his shoulder and tossed it at Officer Ryman. He approached the police officer and took the rag back, signaling that joke time was over. "What can I get for you today, Kevin?"

"Miller," Kevin replied, "thanks, Will."

"Anything for your buddy?"

"Could I have a soda cocktail, please?" Kenny replied, "Coke and Sprite."

"That sounds like a pretty exotic soda," Will noted, hosing the fountain pop into a short glass with more ice cubes than necessary. He plopped the drink in front of Kenny and turned around, heading towards the back of the bar. "Your beer's coming right up, Kevin."

"Thanks, Will."

While he was taking a sip of his drink, Kenny looked around the room out of curiosity at his new surroundings. The shelves above their heads boasted a variety of alcohol, most of them from foreign countries with names that Kenny couldn't pronounce. The walls consisted of wood paneling up to about waist level, after which it converted to tacky wallpaper no doubt installed in the seventies. There was a TV directly across the large expanse of the room from the door they entered, tuned into the sports channel airing a game featuring the Raccoon City Sharks.

Kenny took note of a pleasant looking waitress – blonde hair tied up into a ponytail, a blue and white vertically striped uniform and a dark gray apron. She walked across the space with grace while pulling off some kind of impressive balancing act with multiple empty beer bottles and glass cups stacked up on multiple trays. She made eye contact with him, and it was then that he realized he'd been staring. The waitress smiled at him sweetly and carried on her merry way, a very pretty smile that seemed to light up the whole room.

"Cute, isn't she?" Officer Ryman asked, tipping his chin towards the waitress who now had her back turned.

"Who is she?"

"Cindy Lennox, only the most popular waitress in this place. Not a guy in here who'd like to get to know her better."

"Officer Ryman, look!" Kenny said, pointing at the patron that Cindy had just been helping, and was slightly disappointed at himself for not noticing who it was sooner. "Officer Bernstein!" Kenny called, waving at her. But she didn't respond. She was seated at one of the afore described barrels with her head in her hands, looking like maybe she'd drank a little too much.

"Officer Bernstein?" Officer Ryman asked curiously. "Oh, you mean Amber! Yo, Amber!"

But then Kenny realized why she wasn't responding. At first glance, it merely looked like she was rubbing her eyes from tiredness. But keeping his eyes on her as he waited for a response, Kenny noticed her shoulders bobbing up and down slightly. The poor woman was crying. In front of her sat a few empty beer bottles, the quantity of which Kenny could not believe she could have drank them all.

"She looks like she could use a comforting shoulder," Officer Ryman noted, all jokes and cheerfulness leaving his voice. "Come on, Kenny, let's go and see if she's okay." They headed over, grabbing two stools on the way, making lots of noise. But if Officer Bernstein noticed, she didn't act like she did.

"Hey Amber," Officer Ryman said, placing a hand on her shoulder, "you gonna be okay?"

She looked up at us with bloodshot eyes. Her face was streaked with tears, the dried edges had gotten crusty with dirt. The last time IKeny saw her was on the helipad, seeing Officer Frost off, her boyfriend; though she hadn't the slightest idea that he had intended to propose to her upon returning from the Arklay mission, or that Kenny himself had hidden the engagement ring. It was as if she hadn't stopped crying, first worrying to death about whether he was going to be alright, and then finding out this morning that he'd been killed on duty. A string of mucus dropped from her nose, but she ignored even that. Her hair was a mess, sitting in a tangled mop hanging from the top of her head.

"I … I couldn't stay at the precinct," she admitted. "Chief Iron's is gonna be pissed if he finds out. But I can't stay there."

"Officer Bernstein, I'm really sorry," Kenny offered a sincere apology. "Rita told me about what happened to the S.T.A.R.S." She immediately broke down as soon as those words left Kenny's mouth, earning him a disapproving glare from Officer Ryman. She practically fell into him, her forehead crashing into his chest as she sobbed. Her face was now as red as her eyes, and a batch of fresh new tears flowed smoothly out from the corners of her eyes. Her mouth was frozen open in a grimace of excruciating emotional pain.

"He's dead," she choked out in between sobs. "Oh God, Joseph's dead …"


End file.
